


Wonders of the World

by Accidental_Ducky



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Indiana Jones has no impulse control, Justine is Tired™, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 42,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: “And this is why plans need to be made in advance, Jones. If you had let me know two days ago that you wanted out of Shanghai so soon after the deal, then we could have been on something that served alcohol.” She stops to face Indiana, handing him one of their suitcases. “Instead we get chickens. I hope you’re happy.”--Being an archaeologist has always been one of Justine's dreams since she was a child. She loved the idea of uncovering valuable objects and ensuring their safety while also traveling around the globe with her husband.Now she's all grown up, her husband is a royal bastard that refuses to sign the divorce papers, and her best friend's lack of impulse control has her falling out of an airplane in a rubber raft, kidnapped by Nazis, and nearly getting her head taken off by an old knight with a broadsword.She's pretty sure she should have just stayed in France.





	1. Temper Tantrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes I just want to get the thickest book out of his study and bash him over the head with it.”
> 
> “We could always shoot him in the foot,” he offers, moving to sit beside her,” then he won’t be able to steal our dig sites.”

 

It’s the sound of loud cursing that makes Indiana stop in front of the closed office door, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he listens. He can’t understand it very well since it’s in French, but he has a good idea of the colorful phrases leaving his friend’s mouth. Still, she’s normally calm and collected and to hear her going off like this makes anger curl in his belly.

Quietly, he turns the knob and pushes the door open to reveal the woman inside, a phone pressed to her ear and a packet of papers clenched in her fist. He stays in the doorway, watching as she paces the cramped space, back and forth, her grip only tightening on the phone until Indiana is surprised when the plastic doesn’t break from the pressure. To see her this mad has him remembering how capable she can be in bad situations.

Justine Laurent is absolutely terrifying as she spins around, wisps of dark hair framing her face and gray eyes narrowed in anger, teeth bared as she snarls at someone down the line. _A regular one hundred and twenty-six pounds of whoop ass_ , Indiana thinks with an amused smile. He feels bad for whoever is on the receiving end today, wondering if it’s the lawyer that doesn’t seem smart enough to figure out the function of a rubber duck or the husband that’s too arrogant to sign the divorce papers.

“René, you sign those damn papers this time or I will come to France and _make you_ ,” she shouts, slamming the phone down in the cradle. For a moment, the only sounds in the office are Justine’s rapid breathing and the papers being thrown down on her desk. _It’s the husband then_ , _the worthless bastard_.

“I take it now is a bad time,” Indiana says once Justine’s breathing is back to normal. She straightens up, fixing her hair back into the elegant chignon before facing him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I understand, Tina.” She nods a little, lips pressed together as she smooths out the skirt of her dress. She always seems to be so put together, clothes wrinkle-free even during their excursions through jungles and deserts; not a hair out of place nor a run in her stockings.

“I just don’t understand why he doesn’t sign the papers. He gets the better end of the deal and the only thing I ask for is half the profits from the vineyard.” She throws her hands up in the air, frustration bleeding through the anger. “And do you know what he tells me?” Indiana shakes his head, wisely keeping silent. “ _Not now,_ mon amour _, I’ve got a dig I’m focused on_ , or _I’m so sorry,_ mon cher _, this divorce would simply cause too big of a scandal_.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Yes! All I want is to have my own surname back so I don’t have to be associated with that… That…” She lets out a loud groan of frustration, only just stopping herself from burying her fingers in her hair again. She takes a few deep breaths, moving to sit on the edge of her desk. “Sometimes I just want to get the thickest book out of his study and bash him over the head with it.”

“We could always shoot him in the foot,” he offers, moving to sit beside her,” then he won’t be able to steal our dig sites.” She lets out a pitiful laugh, resting her head on his shoulder. Indiana has only known Justine for a few years, but he’s protective of her and hates that he can’t help her in dealing with her husband troubles.

René Belloq is the biggest asshole on the planet, all smug arrogance and able to manipulate his way out of most situations. He’s handsome and charming, but he cares nothing for the historical value of objects, doesn’t even love the woman he’d tricked into marrying him. He likes pretty things and that’s how he views Justine.

“Is there a reason you came in here,” she asks after a moment, looking up at him with those big eyes of hers. She’s barely a year younger than him, but sometimes that small gap seems like much more.

“I got the funds for a dig and thought you’d like to tag along. It’ll get you out of the States and might even take your mind off Belloq.”

“Well, I suppose work is better than languishing around here.” He takes a look around the office, the only thing unorganized being the divorce papers currently fluttering to the ground. She’s an orderly woman, unable to truly rest until her living environment is just as composed as she is. He’d once seen her hitting a man with a silk slipper because he’d refused to help her shoo a scorpion out of her tent. It wasn’t even because the scorpion was capable of killing her, she wanted it out because it kept scurrying around the tent instead of staying in one place.

“Come on, we’ll get some take-out and pack our bags in the morning.”


	2. Getting out of the Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And this is why plans need to be made in advance, Jones. If you had let me know two days ago that you wanted out of Shanghai so soon after the deal, then we could have been on something that served alcohol.” She stops to face Indiana, handing him one of their suitcases. “Instead we get chickens. I hope you’re happy.”

Justine is used to attending parties, spent her childhood being groomed to throw the best ones with the most expensive decorations she could get her hands on. By the time she was five, she was able to hold small conversations with her parents’ guests about a little of everything and now that she’s thirty-six she’s able to hold in-depth conversations about things like which grapes produce the best wines and which season is best for going on holiday.

Club Obi Wan is nothing like the parties she attended in France. The place is filled to bursting with men and women dressed to the nines, but there’s also opium-laced smoke drifting in the air and the champagne is cheap stuff in fancy bottles. _Probably salvaged from the garbage of one of the better restaurants in Shanghai_. The guests here are dancing and laughing like it’s their last night on earth, like their lives will be cut short on the last stroke of midnight.

It all reminds her of that old story her older brother had been fond of, the one about an arrogant Prince that thought he could outlast the plague inside a magnificent castle. The plague got in of course and killed everyone inside a room holding an ebony clock and panes of ebony glass.

“And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death,” she murmurs to herself, gazing around at people of all nationalities. “He had come like a thief in the night.”

Justine climbs a short set of stairs that leads to a private balcony of sorts, gray eyes sweeping over the throng of people until they find the handsome man that’s just stepped inside. Wearing a white dinner jacket with a red carnation in its lapel, his blond hair carefully styled until it met with Justine’s high standards, he’s able to blend in with the mass of people.

She follows Indiana’s gaze to the Chinese men seated in one of the private booths, three of them all together and sharing the same fine cheekbones and small ears. Lao Che and his sons. One of them has a bandage wrapped around his hand and she can’t quite bite back a smile as she remembers how he came by his wound. _That’ll teach him to sneak in and steal things from our camp_.

She’d been half-asleep at the time, curled up against Indiana’s side when the man known as Kao Kan had come inside on quiet feet. He might have stolen the little jade urn holding Nurhachi, but he’d stumbled over one of Indiana’s boots and fell right on top of the collapsible table. He and the table’s contents both hit the ground after that, the urn rolling under the cot and pages of Justine’s English-to-Chinese dictionary crumpling where it landed on its fore edge against the rug.

She and Indiana had both jumped off the cot and had Kan tackled back to the ground before he could scramble out of their tent and he wasn’t allowed to leave until they learned who’d sent him. They didn’t get any information until Indiana had held him down and Justine had made a clean cut through the man’s left index finger.

Now here they all are, meeting like civil people in a public place to avoid any more debacles. And as she watches the exchange, it almost seems to go according to plan even after the pretty blonde that had been singing on stage comes to sit between Indiana and Lao. In fact, Justine is almost ready to call it a night when Indiana yanks the woman against his side with a two-pronged fork denting the side of the red and gold dress she’s wearing, the sequins flashing in the low light.

Justine rolls her eyes skyward, wondering why she even bothers to pray anymore.

The brunette slowly makes her way back to the ground floor, doing her best not to stand out as she draws steadily closer in case her friend needs backup. She’s made it three feet away when the three men begin to laugh, a genuinely amused sound that shocks Justine given the fact that they’ve just handed over a gorgeous diamond the size of a toddler’s palm.

Over Indiana’s head, Justine meets Wu Han’s gaze and holds it for a moment, questioning. Her friend manages a subtle shrug of one thin shoulder, both of them glancing back to the table and the people occupying it. The blonde is back in her own chair, but the Chinese men are still laughing as though they’ve just heard the world’s greatest joke.

“Did I miss you telling a joke or something,” Indiana asks, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Justine would normally smack his hand for that, ruining the starched collar she’d arranged so carefully, but just now her attention is on the champagne glass resting on the turntable in front of her friend. “What’s so funny?”

“I think I’ll have the diamond back now, Doctor Jones,” Lao says, a smug grin showing off pearly white teeth.

“Yes, and I’ll have Vivien Leigh while we’re at it.” Lao, still laughing, brings a vial of blue liquid out of his coat pocket and Justine can feel her stomach drop into her satin dancing shoes. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“The antidote.”

“For _what?”_

“For the poison you just drank.” To confirm this, Indiana runs a finger over the bottom of the champagne glass and comes away with a gritty powder on the pad of his index finger, an expression of dawning horror making him look like a little boy that’s scared of the monster under his bed. “I’m afraid it works fast, so I’ll be having that diamond now.” He slams the multi-faceted gem down on the table, allowing Chen to take it before he tugs the woman back into his lap, the fork pressed flush against the bare skin revealed by the dress.

“Lao,” the woman growls, blue eyes panicked. Behind them, Wu Han is bringing a small pistol out of his pocket, resting it beneath the silver tray balanced on his right arm. Justine brings her own small gun out of her white clutch, moving until she’s standing just behind Lao with the barrel of it pressed against the back of his skull.

“Hello,” she greets, bending down so she can speak in his ear. “I’m sure you don’t know who I am, I’m not as famous as the doctor here, but your son knows me.” Lao’s eyes cut to his left and Kan has grown pale against the stark black of his suit. “If you don’t want to lose much more than a finger, I suggest that you hand the antidote to Doctor Jones.” He swallows hard, gaze flicking to the other pistol trained on him.

“Good service around here,” Indiana smirks. “I wouldn’t test her patience if I were you.”

“I’ve got very little of it left after dealing with him for the past six years.” Lao has his arm outstretched and is ready to hand the vial to Indiana when a champagne cork has them all glancing to the left, Justine able to spot a group of laughing people a few tables away.

“Indy?” Wu Han’s voice is strangled and hesitant, and Justine’s eyes go wide as she takes in the red blooming against his chest. She sucks in a sharp breath when she realizes what happened, anger burning in her chest as she whips around to look at Lao’s older son. Her eyes catch the dull glint of metal as the pistol is tucked back under the table, Kan seeming all too pleased with himself until the butt of Justine’s pistol cracks against his skull. Lao doesn’t fare much better, Justine snatching the antidote out of his hand before grabbing a fistful of his hair and smashing his face against the table.

Across from her, Wu Han’s been lowered into Indiana’s abandoned chair, eyes glazing and skin taking on a waxy hue. He’s already gone, and Indiana will be following him soon if he doesn’t get the antidote.

“Indy,” she hisses, holding up the vial between two fingers. “I think it’s time to exit stage right.”

“I’m ready to exit just about any direction, Tina.” Justine scrambles to get around the table, making it almost halfway before a skeletal hand wraps around her wrist and jerks her backwards against a thin chest. Lao’s skinnier son is surprisingly strong, wrestling the antidote out of her hand and tossing it aside along with her pistol. “Tina!”

“Get the antidote!” She jerks her head back, hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose followed by a pained grunt. “Let me go!” Chen only tightens his hold on her, yanking on her perfectly styled hair until its hanging around her face in loose waves. Her eyes meet the woman standing nearby, the pretty blonde with the wonderful dress and a serving tray in her hand.

“Duck,” the woman shouts. Justine goes limp without warning, tucking her chin against her chest right as the other woman swings. There’s a clang and then Justine is free to move again, rolling off to the side and watching as the woman hits Chen one last time square in the face.

“Why’d you help me?” The blonde tugs her up to her feet and brushes off the maroon fabric of Justine’s dress.

“Because women need to work together. Besides, Chen was a real creep. I’ve been wanting to hit him since I first laid eyes on him.”

“Justine Laurent.”

“Willie Scott.”

“Now that you two have been introduced, do you think we can leave before our company wakes up,” Indiana asks, grasping an arm of each woman and propelling them towards the door.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, bub.” There’s fire in Willie’s eyes that Justine can relate to, but there’s also a hint of blue poking out the front of her dress that’s sloshing around. The antidote.

“Do you think your ex-boyfriend is going to be pleased to learn that you ran away with his diamond? You might as well tag along before he wakes up and sends his goons after us.”

“He’ll think you two stole his precious diamond.”

“If that’s really something you believe then I’ll be happy to leave you right here.” They all come to a stop in a hallway that leads to a service exit, Indiana turning a steely gaze on Willie. “Give me the antidote and I’ll be on my way.” Willie hands the vial over without complaint, watching as he downs it in one swallow.

“Do you really think he’ll send his men after me?”

“I wouldn’t drag you along if I didn’t.” Her gaze seeks out Justine’s, white teeth sinking into a plush red lip.

“He’s right for once,” Justine says, shrugging a shoulder. “Lao Che isn’t an idiot despite all indicators to the contrary, he’ll know who stole his diamond. On top of that, you knocked his favorite son unconscious with a serving tray.”

“He had it coming,” Willie says, defensive in spite of the slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth. There’s a moment of indecision and then she’s heaving out an impressive sigh and stomping on ahead of them. “Are you coming or not?” Indiana turns to look at Justine, arching his brows as though to say _this is a monumentally bad idea_.

“You’re the one who wanted to get out of the office, Indy. I was perfectly happy staying at home and sending my husband threatening notes in the mail.” Willie goes storming down a side hall, heels clacking on the concrete floor. “Does she not realize we’re heading for the door at the end of this hall?” They get their answer a moment later when Willie goes storming down a hall on the left, grumbling under her breath.

“It’s got an exit sticker on the front of it. How is she missing that?”

“…. It’s just not fair,” Willie’s saying, voice slowly getting louder as she really works herself up. “It’s not right. Why shouldn’t I get to keep the diamond and live? Finders keepers, and all that jazz.” Justine gets a gentle hold on Willie’s elbow and steers her out the right door, leading her into the car that their companion is sitting in.

“We actually made it out of there without being shot at.” Indiana’s grinning, an infectious thing that has Li laughing. He’s barely ten years old, but he’s a more competent driver than some people Justine knows, herself included. Li pulls away from the curb and even manages to go the speed limit for about three blocks before the gunfire starts up, one of the bullets cracking the side mirror.

“And I _cracked a nail!_ ”

“Get down!”

“Gimme a gun,” Justine shouts, holding out a hand and peering over the back of the seat. There’s another pop of gunfire and then Willie’s yanking her down by the back of her dress, spiderweb cracks spreading over the rear window before another round of gunfire shatters it entirely, the glass raining over the seat like a waterfall.

“Shorty, step on it!”

“I’m trying,” Li says, almost shouting to be heard as his little foot punches down on the gas. “Hold onto your pants!” The car lurches dangerously as they take a sudden turn, the cab shaking when they land back on all four wheels and continue down towards the small airfield. “Who the heck is the lady?”

“Willie Scott,” she says, popping out an arm for a handshake. She’s grinning like the cat that got the cream, all pearly white and perfect. “You might have heard of me. I’m a singer.”

“You must not be famous then because Miss Tina doesn’t talk about you when she’s drunk.” Scarlet colors Justine’s cheeks and she sinks lower in her seat, the sudden flashbacks of humming along to Bing Crosby while nursing a bottle of wine making her head throb.

“Maybe focus on the road, Shorty,” Justine advises, skillfully avoiding Willie’s glare. “Take a left up here.” He jerks the wheel sharp enough to have the three passengers falling to the right, Indiana’s pistol flying out of his hand and right out the window. “Maybe I should be the one driving, Indy.”

“I’d like to live through this little adventure,” he grumbles. “A right and then straight on, Shorty.”

“But that’s the long way,” Li complains, frowning.

“And that’s just fine. I shot Lao Che’s driver before I lost my gun.”

“But—”

“Wan Li, I’m not asking a second time.” The kid shrinks down in the seat, but he follows directions without another word. Indiana sits up fully and scowls down at Justine. “This is your fault, you know. You just have to spoil him.”

“Oh no, you spoil him even more than I do,” she states, jabbing a finger against his chest. “Which one of us lets him eat ice cream for breakfast? Which one of us decided to teach him how to drive rather than focusing on his lessons? _I_ am the responsible one here!”

“Like hell you are!”

“I’m not having this argument again.” She shakes her head and turns her back on him, arms crossed over her chest. Indiana scoffs and mumbles something under his breath, and then Justine is turning back around. “What was that?”

“You know damn well what I—”

“Shut up,” Willie yells, shoving a hand against each of their chests. “In just one night I have been shot at, threatened, prodded with a fork, and I’m pretty sure that kid up there gave me whiplash! If I hear one more word out of either of you that even sounds like you’re arguing, then I’ll put you over my knee and give you a good spanking! Is that understood?” It’s like getting admonished by their parents all over again, both of the adults deflating and lowering their heads.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the say together. Willie huffs out a breath and leans back in her seat between them, raking her fingers through her hair until it no longer resembles a bird’s nest.

 

The hangar for Pan American Airways is quiet by the time the group arrives, most of the employees home with their families for a quiet meal before bed. Li parks near the terminal gate and a tall white man jogs over as they begin getting out of the car.

“Doctor Jones,” the man asks, British. Indiana nods and goes around to open the trunk, handing off a couple of suitcases to Justine. “My name is Art Webber. I believe I spoke to your assistant yesterday.”

“I am not his assistant,” Justine says, shoving past him.

“Yes, well…. I’ve managed to reserve four seats, but I’m afraid they’re in the back of a cargo plane full of live poultry.”

“And this is why plans need to be made in advance, Jones. If you had let me know two days ago that you wanted out of Shanghai so soon after the deal, then we could have been on something that served alcohol.” She stops to face Indiana, handing him one of their suitcases. “Instead we get chickens. I hope you’re happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night.” The Masque of the Red Death, Edgar Allan Poe


	3. Whitewater Rafting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, at least this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.”
> 
> “It’s in the top twenty.” Willie lifts her head off the edge of the raft, expression caught somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “It’s not as bad as that time giant ants ate a man in front of us.”
> 
> “Or that time we got stuck in an underground cave for three days with only a bottle of water and a soaked Agathe Christie novel.”

Changing in a very small plane with another person in the space with her proves to be far less awkward than Justine had thought it would be. It helps that Willie likes her clothes because hearing that her wardrobe is still top of the line really makes Justine’s ego bloom.

“That looks good on you,” she says, admiring the way her button-up looks on Willie. “You should keep it.”

“No, that’d be rude.”

“Nonsense. My husband is rich and won’t sign divorce papers, so I’m spending every bit of his money I can on clothes. He’ll either break or go into debt.”

“That’s devious.” Willie grins and bumps Justine with her hip. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Justine hums and pulls on a black suit coat she’d stolen out of Indiana’s closet before they left Connecticut. It’s small on him now, but it carries the scent of his cologne and it’s comforting. “You and I should head to New York when we get back to the States. They have some of the most expensive clothes I’ve seen so far.”

“It’s a date.” Willie’s grin falters for a moment and her gaze moves from Justine’s head, to the flats she has on, and back up again. She’s quiet a moment longer before giving a decisive nod.

“I’m a very expensive date, you know.”

“My favorite kind. I’m a bit of a show off most days.” René hates that Justine is equally attracted to men and women, but she’s long since stopped caring about what he likes. Her newest hobby is stealing potential dates from Indiana with only a bright smile and a few words of poetry. “We should probably get back to the others. It’s going to be a long flight.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” They come into the main part of the plane to find Indiana lounging against chicken cages and Li sound asleep with his baseball cap pulled over his eyes. “We don’t even have any blankets.”

“I always carry one.” Justine pulls a throw blanket out of her suitcase and hands it over to Willie. “In our profession, you never know when the temperature is going to be too low for comfort.” The women settle in across the aisle from Li and Indiana, sharing the blanket as their adrenaline finally begins to ease up.

 

Justine isn’t sure what time it is when she’s woken up by shrill screaming and a feather in her mouth, but she knows that it’s far too early for any sane person. “What the hell is going on?”

“The pilots,” Willie yells. “They just jumped out of the plane and there’s a mountain coming up and we’re gonna die!” Indiana’s eyes go wide at the last bit of panicked babbling, lunging upwards and into the cockpit with the two women behind him. Willie isn’t exaggerating, snow-capped mountains that would normally be gorgeous look downright menacing when you’re falling out of the sky. “You can fly a plane, right?”

“I normally have people fly them for me. Indy?” He turns to give her a dry look, arching a brow.

“Have you ever seen me fly a plane before, Tina,” he asks. “But how hard can it be? We got a wheel and the low fuel light isn’t on.” There’s a sputtering sound as the engine stops working and then the fuel light is glowing a bright red on the dash. “Oh boy….”

“Parachutes?”

“No parachutes,” Li says from the cargo hold. “Those sons of bitches took them!”

“Language,” Indiana says sharply. “They’re some of the biggest sons of bitches I’ve ever encountered, but you’re too young to be cussing like that.” He climbs over the seat and past the women, digging through the hold for anything useful. “Tina, get our stuff!” She moves on autopilot, stuffing everything back in their suitcases and helping Li to gather them near the door.

“I’m too young to die,” Willie moans, shuffling backwards until she bumps into Li. “I can’t go out like this, I just—” She cuts herself off when she spies Indiana’s grand idea, a yellow life raft that he spreads out on the floor. “We’re not sinking, you idiot! We’re _crashing!”_

“Justine, hold her! Shorty, get in the middle!” There’s a split second once they’re in the raft that Justine thinks she’ll be okay with this, that they’ll all make it out alive, but then they’re hanging in the air, the raft inflating around them, and Justine is screaming for all she’s worth.

The raft doesn’t stop once it hits the mountainside, continuing down a steep incline and straight off the edge of a cliff, splashing down into a river. Justine’s nails dig into the back of Willie’s borrowed jacket, her free hand gripping Li’s arm to keep him inside. The water is churning violently as they’re ushered down the way, soaking through their clothes and stinging them like thousands of needles.

“I hate the water,” Willie screeches right in Indiana’s ear,” I hate being wet, and I hate _you!”_

“The feeling is mutual, doll,” Indiana yells back.

“Could the two of you shut it,” Justine snarls. “It looks like calm waters up ahead.” The calming water is probably the first break they’ve caught in the past forty-eight hours and Justine fully intends to catch up on her beauty sleep before everything turns to shit again. She flops backwards, Li curling up against her like a cat.

“Well, at least this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened.”

“It’s in the top twenty.” Willie lifts her head off the edge of the raft, expression caught somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “It’s not as bad as that time giant ants ate a man in front of us.”

“Or that time we got stuck in an underground cave for three days with only a bottle of water and a soaked Agathe Christie novel.”

“God, where the hell are we,” Willie asks.

“India.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it an educated guess.” Justine lifts her head, taking in the man that’s standing on the shore. He’s average height with dark brown skin and frizzy white hair, staring at them with a stoicism that Justine envies. The man gestures for them to come closer, Indiana and Justine working in tandem to steer the raft over to the shore, using tree branches to pull them up onto the warm sand.

“How did we end up here of all places?”

“Bad timing, I’d say.” Willie groans and rolls onto her stomach before standing up, taking Indiana’s hand for balance as she climbs out of the raft. Justine clambers out next, Li and Indiana coming after her. “What’s your guess, Tina?”

“Sheer dumb luck,” she grouses. “Indy, I’m freezing.”

“Join the club.” She pulls her jacket tighter around herself, glancing up from her ruined shoes in time to see the stranger pressing his palms together and bringing them up to touch his forehead. It’s a gesture of greeting, meaning he’s not upset that total strangers have washed up looking like a bunch of drowned rats. Indiana and Justine return the greeting, letting out sighs of relief.

The man gestures again, waving for them to follow him. The adults all share a look, deciding that following the man might mean other people and even food. The landscape they walk through is barren, fruitless trees and scrub brush and dusty gravel. The lack of vibrant life is something that Justine will never grow used to.

The man leads them to a small village looks to have seen better days, the buildings covered in layers of dust and grime, the wagons half-collapsed in the dirt. People swarm them once they enter the village proper, Justine completely unfamiliar with the dialect but understanding the utter heartbreak in their faces.

“What are they saying,” Justine asks, grasping Indiana’s arm.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I can’t make it out when they’re all talking at the same time like this.” The villagers keep brushing their hands over the group, attempting to hug Li even when he snuggles closer to Justine’s side, like they’re hopping the travelers are good luck.

The man from earlier wriggles his way past his people, taking one of Indiana’s hands and leading them all forward towards one of the ramshackle houses. It’s closed on three sides and open on one that faces the village center, worn blankets and old rugs covering the floor.

A man in a turban is waiting for them there, smiling and gesturing for them to sit. He says something and then a few of the villagers disappear into the growing crowd, coming back ten minutes later with plates of food. Willie stares down at her plate in disgust, taking in the moldering fruit and what looks like old rice.

“I can’t eat this,” she says, swallowing hard. “Please don’t make me eat this.”

“That’s more food than these people eat in a week,” Indiana says, stern.

“All the more reason for them to keep their food.”

“You’re going to insult them.” Willie purses her lips and looks out to the gathered people, taking a deep breath before stuffing half of her rice in her mouth with a grimace.

“Don’t look so depressed,” Justine says, nibbling on a slice of mango. “They’re giving you this much food because they’re kind. They could have shunned us and left us to wander with nothing.” Willie makes a face, but she keeps eating and doesn’t saying anything else for a while.

“Can you provide us with a guide to take us to Delhi?” The village elder bows his head in a nod, smiling past his graying beard and mustache. He looks like the type of grandfather every kid dreams of having, an open person with a kind face despite the pain in his eyes.

“Yes,” the elder says. “Sajnu will guide you.” The man who’d led them to the village nods as well, brown eyes sweeping over the group with a suppressed excitement.

“On the way to Delhi,” the Shaman says,” you will stop at Pankot.” Justine is completely fine with that until she notices the way that her friend’s shoulders stiffen. He sets a fruit rind back on his plate and swallows before speaking.

“Pankot is not on the way to Delhi,” he says.

“You will go to the palace there and you will see why our village dies. There is a new Maharajah and with him comes the Dark Light.” Willie looks to Justine for answers, but she’s just as lost as the actress. Her focus in college had mostly been on Egypt, not India.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“The evil started in Pankot. The darkness there travels like a monsoon over all country and destroys.” Justine sets her food aside and slides forward in her seat, fingers clutching at the fabric of her pants. “They came from the palace and took Sivalinga from our village.” There’s a passion in the man’s voice as he talks now, passion and indescribable pain.

“Took what,” Willie asks, breathless as she’s drawn into the Shaman’s tale.

“A sacred stone,” Indiana explains. “It’s sacred to these people. They keep it in a shrine, and it’s supposed to protect the village.”

“It is why Siva brought you here,” the Shaman continues. “We prayed for Siva to help us find the stone and Siva made you fall from the sky. You were chosen to bring Sivalinga back to us. I saw you in my dream.” The Shaman and elder both stand and leave the hut, the others following them to an empty shrine.

“They took the stone from here,” the elder says.

“Was the stone smooth like you pulled it out of a river,” Indiana asks. He gestures with his hands like he’s rubbing a rock. The elder nods, eyes bright. “And did it have three lines running across it representing the three levels of the universe?” He mimes the three lines now, running the fingers horizontally over the back of his hand.

“That’s right, yes.”

“I’ve seen stones like that before. I just don’t understand why this Maharajah would take the sacred stone from your village.”

“They told us we must pray to their evil god,” the Shaman says. “When we refused to, they took Sivalinga and our wells dried up, the rivers turned to sand. The crops were swallowed by the earth and our animals laid down and turned to dust.” The Shaman seems lost for a moment, falling back into his first language and gesturing with his hands.

“There was a fire in the fields,” Indiana translates. “The men went out to fight it and when they returned, they found the women crying in the darkness.” He trails off when the Shaman says something else, his gaze turning soft and hurting. Something horrible happened that night, something that makes Indiana look gutted. “The Maharajah’s men stole their children.”

“Then we’re going,” Justine states, gray eyes hard as slate. “We’re getting their stone and their children back and killing anyone that gets in our way.” Indiana doesn’t even bother to argue, mouth set in a grim line as he dips his head in a nod.

“We leave first thing in the morning.”


	4. Jones of the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A colony of bats fly overhead as they’re crossing a river, the largest ones that Justine has ever seen. She likes bats, the way they navigate by echolocation and how fuzzy they are. “Oh, what big birds,” Willie says, tilting her head back to ogle at them.
> 
> “Those aren’t birds, sweetheart,” Indiana calls from the front. “Those are vampire bats.” She doesn’t look any less fascinated by them as they fly overhead, lips parted.
> 
> “I wonder if one of them is a Count,” Justine muses to herself. Willie looks to her and then back up to the sky, all blue with only a few wisps of clouds to be seen. “I wouldn’t mind being whisked off to Transylvania. Maybe he could even eat my husband.”

The next morning finds Justine being shaken awake by Wan Li, his huge grin enough to have her smiling as well. “Anything happen while I was asleep,” she asks, sitting up slowly. He sits back on his heels, smile dropping away.

“A little boy made it back here last night, he said that the others are still trapped in the palace. Doctor Jones says we need to leave right now.” Willie’s already outside, her evening gown and heels missing from where she’d stashed them the night before. “Miss Tina?”

“Yeah, Shorty, I’m coming.” He nods and leaves the hut, shouting in excitement once he’s back out in the sunshine. Justine manages a brief smile at the sound before she pulls on her clothes, the same clothes she’d worn yesterday since her suitcase had tumbled out of the raft. She pulls her hair up into a chignon as she walks outside, wanting the thick stuff off her neck. “Oh, my dear sweet lord.”

“Elephants,” Willie says, coming to stand next to her. “We’re expected to ride _elephants_ through the damn _jungle_.”

“At least we’re not walking.” Justine marches forward and lets one of the men help her up on her elephant, a female with sun-warmed skin and small wisps of white hair on its head. “And what are you called, hmm? I think I’ll call you Ginger.” She pets the top of her elephant’s head fondly, purposefully ignoring the trouble Willie’s having. She’ll be embarrassed enough as it is, she doesn’t need another person gawking at her.

They keep moving well into the early evening, only stopping for bathroom breaks or when the heat starts to get too horrible.

A colony of bats fly overhead as they’re crossing a river, the largest ones that Justine has ever seen. She likes bats, the way they navigate by echolocation and how fuzzy they are. “Oh, what big birds,” Willie says, tilting her head back to ogle at them.

“Those aren’t birds, sweetheart,” Indiana calls from the front. “Those are vampire bats.” She doesn’t look any less fascinated by them as they fly overhead, lips parted.

“I wonder if one of them is a Count,” Justine muses to herself. Willie looks to her and then back up to the sky, all blue with only a few wisps of clouds to be seen. “I wouldn’t mind being whisked off to Transylvania. Maybe he could even eat my husband.”

“I don’t think your luck runs that way.” Justine huffs out a sigh, though it morphs into a snort of laughter when Willie’s elephant bucks her off into the water. The singer lets out an enraged shriek and slaps at the elephant’s trunk.

“This isn’t fair! I was just fine in Shanghai. I had a little house and a garden, and my friends were rich….” She lets out a high-pitched sob, slapping at the water. “Oh God, why did I take that stupid diamond? I could be dry right now. I could be at some fancy party in a nice dress and my French perfume wouldn’t be floating down a godforsaken river.” Justine sends Indiana a look and he attempts to smother his smile.

“I think we’ll camp here tonight,” he says.

 

Sunset finds Justine reclined on a low tree branch, a bare foot swinging back and forth in the air as she hums. In her mind, she’s sitting on the veranda of her parents’ home on the outskirts of Marseille, listening to her older brother sing as he checks on their vineyard. “ _Au clair de la lune_ ,” she sings, barely more than a whisper,” _m_ _on ami Pierrot, prête-moi ta plume pour écrire un mot_.” It’s one of her favorite songs, a simple lullaby that calmed all her ragged nerves and made her feel like a little girl again. “ _Ma chandelle est morte_ ….” She trails off, giggling as Willie’s elephant drapes its trunk over her shoulder again.

“I told you to stop that,” Willie growls, shoving at the trunk. Wearing a blanket as a dress, Willie gets up and crosses their little camp to spread her partially dried clothes out on the branch next to Justine, running her hand over the delicate material to smooth it out. “So, how did you meet your little bodyguard?”

“I didn’t meet him,” Indiana says, dealing out a new hand for him and Li. “I caught Shorty pickpocketing me outside the Tai-Phung Theater a few years ago. Tina convinced me to keep him with us instead of shipping him straight to a boarding school in Connecticut.”

“Boarding school isn’t a good place for children,” Justine says primly. “The boys there can be cruel, and I don’t want to be in a completely different country if Li gets bullied.” Indiana doesn’t argue, but he does reach out to tweak Li’s nose. The kid’s basically like their child at this point, though none of them have admitted that fact out loud.

Willie shakes her head, reaching for her shirt and accidentally grabbing a bat instead. Her scream could wake Merneith all the way in her tomb. She tosses the bat aside and sprints to the far-left side of the camp, finding some other animal there that has her sprinting to the right and then diving to the ground near her elephant.

“We’re surrounded,” she breathes out. “There’s wildlife _everywhere_.”

“We’re in a jungle, Willie,” Indiana says. “What were you expecting?” She sends him a withering glare, pulling her blanket tighter around her. “Say, is Willie short for something?”

“It’s my professional name, _Indiana_.”

“Hey,” Li calls,” he’s Doctor Jones to you.” Indiana gives a dry smile and Justine can’t hold back a soft laugh.

“And that’s _my_ professional name,” he says. Willie frowns as she relaxes back against a log, batting her elephant’s trunk away again.

“Tell me the truth, we’re not really going to some deserted palace for fortune and glory, are we,” Willie asks. Indiana shakes his head and pulls out a piece of worn tapestry, unfolding it to show Willie. “We’re going to get the rest of whatever this was torn from?”

“No, this is a piece of an old manuscript. This pictograph represents Sankara, a priest.” She bats the trunk away again, the elephant making a small noise. “The Sanskrit over here tells part of the legend of Sankara.” He runs his finger along the line of old writing for Willie to follow along and Justine relaxes further as Indiana tells the story. “He climbs Mount Kalisa where he meets Siva, the Hindu god.”

“So what’s Siva handing to the priest?”

“The five sacred stones that will help him combat evil.”

“Magic rocks? You know, my grandfather was a magician. He spent his entire life with a rabbit in his pocket and pigeons up his sleeves. He made a lot of children happy and died a very poor man. He might believe in your magic rocks, but I sure don’t. And on that note, I’m going to bed.” She gets up and moves closer to her elephant, spreading some leaves around to protect her from the cold dirt.

“I’d sleep closer if I were you. It’s safer that way.”

“I’d be safer with a snake.” As if summoned, a python unfurls from one of the branches and curls over Willie’s shoulder. Indiana jolts backwards with a choked off cry, and the pure horror on his face might have been amusing if there wasn’t a good chance of Willie getting herself bit. She grabs ahold of the snake without even looking, tossing it back into the jungle. “Sweet Christ, I hate that elephant.”

“I got room up here if you want to join me,” Justine calls from her perch.

“Or you can stop being a monkey and come down here.” She grins and rolls off the branch, landing on her feet. “Show off.”

“I told you I was one.” Willie curls up on her side, tugging Justine down beside her until they’re snuggled together. “Hey, what’s Willie short for? My curiosity won’t let me sleep until it’s satisfied.”

“Wilhelmina. Are you going to tell Jones?”

“Nope, it’ll be our little secret. For the record, though, I think Wilhelmina is a gorgeous name.” Willie hums, patting the arm that Justine has thrown over her middle. “Sweet dreams, Willie.”

 

The group is up and moving again before daylight, trying to beat the scorching heat by a few hours at the least. There’s mild complaining on Willie’s part, but she settles into the routine as they move slowly through the jungle with Sajnu clearing the way ahead of them. The odd hours don’t affect Justine much, she’s used to them after following her husband around and getting her own degree for Egyptology.

“How do you think Fay Wray is handling things,” Indiana asks, nodding at the blonde behind them.

“This is all new to her,” Justine shrugs. “All things considered, she could be worse.” And there had been other women on these little detours, most of them seduced by Indiana’s rakish good looks and his passion for archaeology. “Don’t be so hard on her.”

“You’re just saying that because you want in her pants.”

“Do I torment any of your potential lovers?”

“Tabitha Walters.”

“Tabitha Walters ended up stealing your wallet and nearly stealing the jade statuette that you’d bought for me. I was _right_ to torment her.”

“You didn’t have to shave her head.”

“Short hair is the new style.” Justine gives a prim little sniff, ignoring the way Indiana rolls his eyes. If he would just listen to her before taking strange women home then he’d still have that Glenn Miller record that he’d loved so much.

“You do realize you’re a little bit of a sociopath, right?”

“I’m well aware, yes.”

Color begins leaching into the sky as they come over a short hill, looking like a watercolor painting. With their new vantage point, they’re able to see the white outline of a palace far above their heads, at least another six hours away. It looks like a shiny pearl that’s been dropped among the lush greens of the jungle, though not nearly colorful enough to compare to the sunrise.

“Indy, look,” Li says, bouncing excitedly. His elephant, Big Short Round, doesn’t seem to mind, its tail twitching back and forth.

“I see it, Shorty,” Indiana says. “That’s Pankot Palace.”

“How long until we get there?”

“Maybe around lunch.”

“If we’re lucky,” Justine says under her breath. The time it takes to get there depends on the length of jungle still ahead of them, it could be easy to break through or it could be so thick that they have to find a new route.

“You sure you can handle this?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” With that, they continue onwards.

The sky is just starting to darken when they come to a stop at an actual path, the guides and Indiana moving forward to check for any boobytraps. Whatever they find has the guides almost hysterical, Sajnu stumbling away with the other two following him back towards the elephants. Justine dismounts and attempts to get closer, but Indiana holds up his hand.

“You don’t wanna see this, Tina,” he says.

“Why,” she asks, though she doesn’t move any closer. “What is it?”

“Spiders.” She shrinks back at the mere mention of the little beasts, an old fear that she’s battled with since childhood. It’s one of the reasons she never pokes fun of his fear of snakes, she understands the bone-deep revulsion he feels whenever he sees one. Behind her, Sajnu is speaking rapidly as Willie and Li dismount, ushering the guides and elephants back into the jungle.

“Where are you going,” Willie asks, trying to chase after them. “Wait, you can’t leave us! Come back!” Justine swallows hard as she edges closer to Indiana, wrapping her arms around herself. Beyond him, half hidden by vines and foliage, is a tall statue of a woman wearing a necklace of heads. Kâli.

“Looks like we’re walking from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merneith was an Egyptian Queen whose tomb was discovered in 1900 by Flinders Petrie.


	5. Monkey Brains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is snake surprise,” says the large man on Willie’s left. He looks giddy about it, like this is a delicacy. Justine doesn’t even like escargot.
> 
> “What’s the surprise,” Willie asks. The answer comes when the snake’s belly is cut open, smaller snakes wriggling out and onto the table. The other gusts grab them by the handful, swallowing them without a second thought. Justine just sits there, wishing she’d savored that slice of mango back in Mayapore.

Even with obvious damage after years of abandonment, Pankot Palace is beautiful close up. Made up of alabaster that shines dully in the fading sunlight, there are small murals painted along the outside walls of elephants and different deities and stories. Most of the palace seems deserted until they reach the main entrance, white-clothed guards stationed every thirty feet.

“Hello,” a man greets. He strides out of the palace dressed in a heather gray suit, all comfortable grace that says he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. “I’d say you look lost, but then I can’t imagine a place the four of you would call home.” Indiana and Justine force a stilted laugh out, though Justine’s smile is a little too sarcastic to pass.

“We’re on our way to Delhi,” Indiana tells him. “This is Miss Scott and Miss Laurent, the kid is Mister Round, and my name is Indiana Jones.”

“Doctor Jones? You’re not the archaeologist, are you?” At Indiana’s nod, the man’s attention turns briefly to Justine. “That must make you Justine, his assistant.” Justine stiffens and takes a step forward to bite the man’s head clean off only to have Indiana and Willie shove her back again. “I heard about you while I was at Oxford.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mister….”

“Chattar Lal, Prime Minister to the Maharajah of Pankot.” He shakes hands with the others, but Justine keeps her arms crossed over her chest. Lal’s smile slowly fades when he realizes that Justine isn’t giving in and his hand drops back to his side. If nothing else, being around René has taught Justine how to hold onto a grudge. “Uh…. Please, come in.”

They follow Lal through the palace to one of the upper floors, the entire group gawking at the architecture and lush decorations. Seeing so much color and life when a village just two days from here is barely managing to scrape by makes Justine’s stomach twist. The smell of cooking food, however, has her stomach growling so loudly that it could replace the cannons in the 1812 Overture.

Lal stops in the middle of a hallway, gesturing at a door to the left. “This will be the ladies’ room,” he says, pushing the doors open. “I will have clean clothes brought up for the two of you so you can dress for dinner.”

“Thanks,” Willie says, striding into the room like she owns the place. Justine follows after her and shuts the doors, marveling at the arched ceiling and the expensive furnishings. The walls are painted in dark blues and greens, depicting the jungle just after sunset when the colors all blend together in a magical blur. The bed has a white canopy over it with lace curtains to keep the bugs away.

“Wow,” Justine breathes out. She runs a hand over the silk comforter, the color reminding her of the sea glass her brother had collected.

“Have you ever seen a room so glamourous before?”

“I mostly deal with old tombs, so it’s nice to see glamour that isn’t covered in dust or scorpions.”

“Honey, you need to travel more.” She straightens up and turns to face Willie, one hand going to the ring she always wears; it’s gold and star-shaped with a small opal in the center, given to her by her father on her first wedding anniversary.

“That’s what my father used to tell me, then I moved to Connecticut and he complained that I didn’t come home enough.”

“That’s just how dads are. They want the best for their little girls and then get mad when those little girls grow up.” She shrugs, wandering over to a set of lattice-work doors, pushing them open to reveal a bathroom. “I think I just found my favorite room of the palace.”

“That tub is huge.”

“Big enough for two.” Justine glances over at her for a second, fingers drifting to the buttons of her shirt. “We need to clean up for dinner, so we may as well do it now.”

“And we’re saving them the water bill of two separate baths. It’s rather thoughtful of us.”

“Exactly.”

 

“Holy shit.”

“Language,” Indiana snaps on instinct. Justine laughs, patting Li’s cheek when he comes to stand next to her. “You like great, Tina.” She smooths down her hair and then her skirt, ensuring that the fine silk has no wrinkles. “Where’s your roommate?”

“She’ll be down soon,” she says, sending Indiana a smug grin. “The bath got a little hot and she had to lie down for a minute.” He makes a soft _oh_ , rubbing a hand over his jaw before starting down the hall. “I see you shaved.”

“Yeah, thought it was time.” Justine hums, arching her neck to take in all the small decorations dotted throughout the hallways. “You really like this place, don’t you?”

“I like the decorations, but I could do without the kidnapping little shi— Uh, the bad people who own the palace.” Li snorts at her near slip-up, skipping ahead and out of view with his laughter floating back to them.

“So, what was Willie like?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“But I tell you about some of the women I sleep with.”

“Because you like to brag.” He frowns and shakes his head a little. “Besides, I’d like to take advantage of the bed and telling you any details about our bath will keep that from happening.”

“I won’t say anything to her.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Yeah, probably.”

The party’s in full swing by the time they make it to one of the larger rooms on the first floor, four women dancing on one stage while a small band is set up on another. Lal meets them as soon as they walk in, smiling like Justine isn’t giving him a subtle _go to hell_ look. She’s nobody’s assistant, dammit.

“I see you found the clothes,” Lal says. “Do you approve, Miss Laurent?”

“The color and cut suits me,” she says stiffly. “Though I’m not used to showing off my midriff.” The choli and lehenga are both surprisingly comfortable in a shade of pale green with gold accents, but her stomach being shown off to the world is uncomfortable for her. She prefers a nice dress over everything.

“I apologize, Miss Laurent.”

“It’s _Doctor_ Laurent, actually. I didn’t spend eight years studying for my health.”

“Take it down a notch,” Indiana says under his breath. “You don’t need to scare the guy.” She turns an unamused frown on him, letting out a noise of protest as he leads her out of earshot. “Does being called my assistant bother you that much?”

“If someone assumed you were my assistant just because you were a man, would it bother you?”

“Yeah, okay, so we hate that guy. That being said, do you think you can make it through dinner without carving out his eyes with your spoon?” Justine actually has to take a minute to think on that one, considering the pros and cons before heaving out a dissatisfied sigh.

“Fine, but no promises after that. He’s far too cheery considering him and his buddies have been accused of kidnaping and God only knows what else.”

“I tell you what, if we find out that Lal is responsible for anything bad happening back in Mayapore then you can kill him and use his skull as a wine glass.” She makes a face and a small part of her isn’t sure that he’s being sarcastic. They’ve seen a lot of weird things in just the past six years she’s been with him, using a man’s head as a wine glass is actually tame in comparison.

“Indy, have you ever considered counseling?”

“I tried it once…. It didn’t work out.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. Let’s just say I’m not allowed within five hundred feet of New Haven and move on with our lives. Oh look, Willie’s here.” She lets him wander off with a fond smile, making her way over to where Li is watching the dancers.

“Are you okay over here, Shorty?”

“I’m fine,” Li says. “What’s that dance called?”

“I have no idea.” He tilts his head back to look at her, a crease forming between his brows.

“But I thought you knew everything.”

“That’s just something Indiana likes to mutter when I’m right and he’s wrong.” He nods and goes back to watching the four women on the stage, following their moves like his life depends on memorizing the steps. “I could teach you how to dance when we get to Connecticut.”

“Do you dance better than you drive?” She flicks his Yankees cap and he grins up at her, brown eyes bright with a mischievousness that only kids are capable of. “Will dancing come in handy at school? There’s always some kind of dancing in those movies they play in the theater.”

“I’m not sure if there are any dances in boarding school. I had a private tutor until college because my mother didn’t want me away for too long.”

“Because she’d miss you?”

“No, because she wanted to mold me into a shinier version of herself.”

“I’m glad you’re not like her, Miss Tina.”

“Me too, Shorty.” The song fades to an end and the others begin filing into the connected dining room, signaling that the food is nearly ready. “Come on, I’m sure you must be starving.”

“I could eat a horse.” He takes two steps before jolting to a sudden stop, spinning around to face Justine with horror-filled eyes. “They’re not gonna make me eat a horse, are they?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they won’t.” Justine puts a hand to his back and steers him into the dining room, finding a place for him between herself and Willie. The table is low to the ground and covered by a white tablecloth and silver plates, vases of flowers spaced every few spots.

“His Supreme Highness, guardian of Pankot tradition, the Maharajah of Pankot, Zalim Singh,” Lal announces, stepping to the side.

Justine’s seen paintings of old Maharajahs, always grim men with no kindness in their eyes and an abundance of jewels. The one that steps into the room is not lacking in the latter, but he’s also around ten years of age and looks a bit like a cornered rabbit. Zalim sits at the head of the table, everyone else following suit with their legs tucked beneath them.

“That’s the Maharajah,” Willie asks, less than impressed. “He’s just a kid.”

“Maybe he likes older women,” Li says, shrugging when Willie turns her frown on him. “I’ve seen it happen in Shanghai. Usually the women are rich, though. And they always end up dead.”

“You little—”

“Don’t finish that sentence if you’d like to sleep in a bed tonight,” Justine says. Willie’s lips press into a thin line and then curve into a dangerous sort of smile. “What?”

“You shouldn’t make threats you won’t go through with, Justine.” She arches a single brow, not even very high, and Willie’s smile falls away. “Jesus, you _would_ go through with it.” She looks ready to make a threat of her own until two men put a platter down on the table, a dead boa arranged to look like it’s climbing a taller portion of the platter.

“Well, it’s not horse.”

“It is snake surprise,” says the large man on Willie’s left. He looks giddy about it, like this is a delicacy. Justine doesn’t even like escargot.

“What’s the surprise,” Willie asks. The answer comes when the snake’s belly is cut open, smaller snakes wriggling out and onto the table. The other gusts grab them by the handful, swallowing them without a second thought. Justine just sits there, wishing she’d savored that slice of mango back in Mayapore.

The snakes are still slithering around on the table when a new platter is passed around, covered in green leaves and fat, black beetles. The only thing Justine can say for this course is that the food they’re expected to eat is actually dead. Still, she hands the plate off to the next person without taking one.

“The three of you are not hungry,” asks a man across from them.

“We had bugs for lunch,” Willie says, forcing a smile. “I’d hate to get burnt out on them.” The man laughs and digs in, sucking the guts out of the bug like you might suck on a crawdad. “Gimme your hat, Shorty. I need to puke, and I doubt the Maharajah would appreciate me doing it in one of his flower vases.”

“Get your own hat,” Li says, pressing his hands over it when Willie tries to snatch it.

“Could you two straighten up and at least pretend that you have manners,” Justine snaps. The other two wilt under her stare, wearing identical frowns. “Just fake it for a few more courses and then dinner should be over with.” The next course is a steaming bowl of soup that smells like heaven and just so happens to have _eyeballs floating in it_.

“Faking it doesn’t mean _eating_ , does it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I’ve heard the evil stories of the Thuggee cult,” Zalim says, his voice projecting out over the table and distracting everyone from the eyeballs. “I thought they were just made up to frighten children, but then I learned that the cult had been real and did unspeakable things. I am ashamed of what took place here all those years ago, and I assure all of you that it will never happen again in my kingdom.” There’s a beat of silence, then Zalim is glancing away from his guests and the soft murmur of conversation starts up again.

“Ah, here comes dessert,” says the man across from them. When a white goblet with a monkey’s severed head is placed in front of her, Justine begins to think that maybe escargot isn’t too bad after all. “Chilled monkey brains.” The tops of the heads are pulled off like lids, revealing a gooey mess of congealed blood and brain matter.

Yeah, she’d definitely eat the escargot right about now.


	6. Mama, Just Killed a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And here I was thinking that this place couldn’t get any creepier.”
> 
> “It’s a previously abandoned palace of a deranged cult of child killers, Tina. It can always get creepier.”

It’s close to midnight before Justine’s able to smuggle some ice cream out of the kitchen, two pints of it stuffed into an empty potato sack and slung over her shoulder as she strolls through the palace. It’s almost eerie at night, sparsely lit with voices muffled through the heavy doors.

“And travelers, now, within that valley, through the red-litten windows see vast forms that move fantastically to a discordant melody,” she murmurs, a brief whisper of noise. “While, like a ghastly rapid river, through the pale door a hideous throng rush out forever and laugh—but smile no more.” She comes around the corner and all thoughts of ghosts are swept away by Willie standing in front of their bedroom door, screaming at the closed door across the hall.

“Indiana Jones, this is one night you’ll always regret! This is the night I slipped right through your fingers.” She sucks in a deep breath, turning to glance over at where Justine is standing. “Why did you feel the need to bring potatoes to bed?” Indiana’s door bursts open and he stumbles out, throat an angry red as he continues forward into the women’s bedroom. “Hey, wait a minute!”

Indiana leaps onto the bed and then flips to the ground on the other side, peering under it before his head pops back up. He looks determined and seeing him stumble over furniture is amusing, so Justine makes herself comfortable in the doorway to watch his progress. He pushes against walls, jerks on the window until he’s sure it’s locked and then pauses in the middle of the room.

“There’s nobody here,” he says, hitching up his pants. His gaze lands on Justine and she’s able to see the beginnings of rope burn around his throat. “Why do you have potatoes?”

“It’s ice cream,” Justine says. “What happened to your neck.”

“Are those flowers moving? I think those flowers are moving.” He marches to the right side of the room, holding his hand in front of a vase of flowers before moving to one of the pillars. There’s a woman carved into the stone, posing with her arms above her head and her chest out. Indiana crouches in front of the carving, hands resting on the calves and working their way up until their on the breast.

“If you don’t stop fondling the statue for five goddamn minutes and tell me what’s going on, I’ll—” Indiana disappears as he shoves the pillar forward, following it into a hidden corridor. There’s a brief rasp and then a match is flaring to life in the darkness, illuminating a painting on the white stone with black writing above and below it.

“Follow in the footsteps of Siva,” he reads. The stone inside the corridor is rough, uneven and cracked from a lack of upkeep. Li comes into the room, curious and scared as he grasps a handful of Justine’s robe. “Do not betray these truths.”

“What does that mean,” Willie asks, peering in at him but not moving any closer.

“Shorty, go get our stuff.” He runs off back across the hall, and Justine can hear him cursing as he fights the panic.

“It means,” Justine says, dropping her sack to the floor,” that I won’t be enjoying any strawberry ice cream tonight.” Indiana doesn’t even look vaguely sorry as she joins him in the tunnel. It’s much creepier than the rest of the palace is, covered in cobwebs and a century’s worth of dust.

Li comes back with Indiana’s hat, coat, and whip, handing them off without saying a word. He fixes himself back to Justine’s side, wrapping his hand up in the tie to her robe so that he doesn’t get lost.

“Thanks, kid.” Indiana stays in the lead as he heads further into the tunnel, Justine and Li following close behind him and brushing away the roots of plants growing above the ground. Justine has a hand on Indiana’s shoulder, doing her best to stay upright on the rocky ground. “No matter what happens, I want you guys to stay behind me.”

“You’re not getting any protests from me this time,” she says. He pauses just long enough to send her a look of complete disbelief before starting forward again. “Last time I went first through a mysterious tunnel I got bit by a spider and nearly died. It’s your turn.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The passage has been closed up for a long time, smelling of damp stone and decaying things. It isn’t not like the tombs in Egypt, where the dead smell vaguely like old moth balls and moldering linen. There used to be living things down here, more than just roots growing through the dirt ceiling like threads of a tapestry.

They have to duck down through a narrow section of tunnel, something crunching under their shoes. It feels like thousands of beetles, but not quite.

“Indy,” Li asks,” why is the ground crunchy?”

“Let’s find out.” They stop and Indiana strikes a match, revealing what’s causing the strange texture under Justine’s slippers. She almost wishes it had remained a mystery. Bugs, thousands of them crawling over each other and writhing and _slithering_. Justine hisses out a breath between her teeth, kicking at the bugs crawling over her shoes.

“Indy!”

“There’s an opening just ahead and to the left, Shorty. Head over there.” Justine urges Li ahead of her so that he’s sandwiched between the adults, ducking through a doorway and into a chamber. “I’m gettin’ too old for this.”

“You should try yoga,” Justine says, straightening up. “Stretch out those back muscles.” He gives a sarcastic laugh, rubbing at his back. She winks and actually feels a laugh bubbling up when there’s a rumbling sound, some kind of stone rolling in front of the door and locking in place. Across the chamber, another stone rolls into place, blocking that exit as well. “Oh, goddammit.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Li shouts, holding up his hands. “I stepped where you stepped!”

“You’re fine, kid,” Indiana assures him. “Just relax, will ya?” He lights another match, the small light barely illuminating a skeleton in old rags that fall apart between his fingers. He gathers a small pile of rags, dropping the match in the middle of it so that they have more light to see by. “Go stand by the wall, please. I need to think.” Li flattens himself against the wall closest to him, a stone sinking in and triggering a new trap. The ceiling begins to lower with a steady grinding of stone-on-stone.

“Willie,” Justine yells, beating on the door with her fists. “Willie, get down here!”

“We need help! Hurry!” There’s a brief sound of air hissing through a tight space and then spikes are rising up out of the ground and lowering through the ceiling, like the jaws of a beast. “Willie!”

“I’m coming,” comes a shrill shriek. “Don’t get your panties in a twist!”

“They’re far beyond twisting at this point! In fact, they’re almost impaled!” Willie screams just outside the door, high enough to make any soprano jealous.

“I think she found the bugs,” Justine says. Her hands are pressed against the ceiling, trying to shove it back up while avoiding the spike currently pricking through the very tip of her slipper. She’s suddenly glad she’d accidently slipped on Willie’s shoes now, her toes safe for the time being.

“I think she’ll live. Hand me that skull, Tina.” She crouches down to pick a skull off of the spike, handing it up to Indiana and watching as he shoves it into one of the rolling gears. It works for a moment, slowing the ceiling down but not stopping it. “There should be something out there,” he shouts over his shoulder. “Some kind of lever that’ll open the door. You gotta find it, Willie!”

“There’s bugs out here,” she yells.

“And there’s spikes in here! Get us out!”

“There’s some square holes in the wall!”

“Go to the one on the right!” The adults are forced to crouch now, Justine’s shoe sliding off as the spike continues upward.

“But it’s so slimy!”

“I don’t care if Lao Che himself is tap-dancing in there, pull the fucking lever!” Li is back between them as they sink lower and lower, knees against their chests. She can fell the tip of a spike brushing the edge of her ear, digging in until the flesh gives and she can feel warm blood on her neck.

“Got it!” And then the pressure is easing, Justine letting out a shaky breath as she hunches over enough to wrap her arms around the boys. Willie is rushing inside the second the stone rolls back, shrieking and wriggling as bugs crawl over her and through her hair. “Get ‘em off of me!”

She drops her oil lamp and bends over to pick it up, her ass grazing the same section of wall that had triggered the spikes in the first place. Justine acts without thinking, grabbing Willie’s arm and dragging her to the floor before the stone can be pushed again.

“What’s the big idea?”

“I’d rather make it out of here without anymore spikes in my body,” Justine growls, gesturing to the cut. It’s nothing serious, more irritating than anything, but it wouldn’t have happened at all if…. Well, if she’d been smart all those years ago and turned René down flat, staying in Marseille with her grapes and her impressive record collection. Damn her romantic notions.

“I’m with Tina,” Indiana says. “Let’s get out of here while we still can.” He gestures at the exit across the room, letting the women and Li go first. They come out into a cavern filled with stalagmites and stalactites both, lit by an eerie red glow.

“And here I was thinking that this place couldn’t get any creepier.”

“It’s a previously abandoned palace of a deranged cult of child killers, Tina. It can _always_ get creepier.” They follow a side tunnel and eventually come out on a small ledge that overlooks a larger cavern, this one purposefully made. There are stone pillars that support the ceiling far above their heads; below is a demonic carving of Kâli, rising up off a stone platform that stretches the entire width of the cavern, the edge of it stopping at a sheer drop that separates it from the side the group is perched above.

There are people down there, a couple of them standing on the left side next to a wheel covered in long spokes. They’re chanting, the noise repetitive and echoing off the stone walls. Two people come out from behind the Kâli statue, burning something as they pace the edge of the drop-off.

“It’s a Thuggee ceremony,” Indiana says, grim. The scholar part of Justine is giddy as a school girl with a crush that she’s able to see an extinct religion, able to observe how these people worship the goddess of death and time and fertility. The other part of her, the one that has the remains of her common sense, is horrified. This is _wrong_ , there’s a reason this cult was disbanded a hundred years ago.

“What’s going to happen,” Justine asks. She wants to know, but she also doesn’t. Another man comes out from behind the shrine, fully clothed in ceremonial garb that’s made complete by a bison’s skull, the horns pointing outwards and the white of them standing out sharply against all the reds and blacks.

Two guards drag in a struggling man as an iron frame is lowered from the ceiling, a simple thing that’s just big enough of the man to be shoved against, restrains closing over his wrists and locking into place so he can’t escape. Justine wants to cry out for this to stop but quells the urge when a small hand curls around hers.

The High Priest moves to the prisoner with all the determination of a predator that’s just cornered its prey, raising a hand up towards the altar with his fingers curved like talons. He’s chanting, louder and different than the others, slowly lowering his hand to his victim’s chest. He settles it over the man’s heart, moving his hand in half circles until it disappears up to the wrist, the man letting out an anguished wail as his heart is yanked clean out.

Justine feels the breath catch in her throat, fingers tight against Li’s as the High Priest raises the heart up for the worshippers to see. The heart is still beating strongly, a fast rhythm that matches Justine’s. The worshippers grow ecstatic at this, rising up off their knees and cheering as though they hadn’t just seen a man’s heart ripped out of his chest without a mark left behind. Among them is a small boy, maybe ten years old and dressed in fine silks. The Maharajah.

“He’s still alive,” Indiana says. His voice is cold, disconnected from what he’s seeing. Justine wishes she could transition so quickly, but she can barely make herself breathe without puking at this point.

The guards shut the doors of the frame, tilting it onto its back so that the poor man is horizontal in the air. The wheel she’d noticed earlier is used to raise the cage into the air and flip it over, a door in the ground opening to reveal a red-lit chasm. There must be something hot down there, fire or magma to make it glow like that. The cage is lowered into the pit, the man screaming loud enough that it almost drowns out the resumed chanting, a tortured sound that Justine has never heard before.

The scream cuts off abruptly, and Justine loses consciousness when the beating heart turns to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And travelers, now, within that valley, through the red-litten windows see vast forms that move fantastically to a discordant melody; while, like a ghastly rapid river, through the pale door a hideous throng rush out forever and laugh—but smile no more.” The Haunted Palace, Edgar Allan Poe


	7. The Problem With Human Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst part of being sacrificed is that the dress Justine is forced into is too gorgeous to be destroyed by magma. There’s also the fact that she could die at any moment, but that’s pretty much par for the course when one spends enough time around Indiana Jones.

Justine wakes up in a cage with her hands chained above her head and a sneaking suspicion that this is all Indiana’s fault. That suspicion is confirmed a second later when she glances over at him and he studiously avoids eye contact. She shifts in the cage and raises her brows, noting the flush high along his cheeks.

“Care to explain what happened after I fainted?”

“Not really,” he mutters.

“Indy saw the shiny rocks in that statue’s face and went after them,” Li says, prompt as ever.

“They’re the Sankara stones, Tina.” He leans forward as much as his chains will allow him, excitement making his hazel eyes bright. “They have three out of the five. I went down to retrieve them and heard something behind the alter.”

“Uh-huh, and then what,” Justine asks.

“I followed the noises to a mine.”

“And?”

“And I found all the kids from Mayapore.”

“Do I really have to drag the information out of you? My hands may be chained up, but my feet are free, and I will kick if I have to. I aim for the head, Jones.”

“I saw a guard whipping one of the kids, so I threw a rock at his head. He didn’t appreciate it.” Justine’s gaze sweeps over the four additional kids trapped in the cage with them, starved to the point of bloating. The sight makes her want to scream, to track down all the people responsible for this suffering and make them pay.

“Where’s Willie?”

“Shorty said she ran off while he was fighting some guards.”

“Good lord, we have awful taste in one-night stands.”

“You got that right.”

“Now what?”

“Now the evil of Kâli will take all of us,” one of the boys says. There’s no hope left in him; it’s been beaten out by those awful guards. He’s hunched against the iron bars, collarbones sharp against the taunt brown skin pulled over them. “They will force all of us to drink the blood of the Kâli and we’ll fall into the Black Sleep of the Kâli Ma.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means you’ll be like the guards,” another boy says. “You’ll be trapped in a waking nightmare and won’t be able to control yourself. Mola Ram, the High Priest, he will control you.”

“Indy, we have to do something. We can’t let him hurt these children anymore than he already has.”

“We will, Tina. Don’t you worry about that.” A shuffling of boots on stone has everyone glancing towards the door of the cage, spotting a handful of guards coming their way. “Maybe this will be our chance.” The door swings outward and then the adults and Li are being unchained and dragged out, herded like sheep through the old catacombs.

Mola Ram is even uglier up close. His bald head has a thick red stripe painted down the center of it, outlined in black, and his dark eyes are sunken deep into his head. They remind Justine of a skeleton, a walking stack of bones that don’t know they’re already dead. Or soon to be dead, anyway.

The three Sankara stones are shelved on the wall, the diamonds inside them glowing bright as torches and giving off an eerie glow. Mola Ram is stroking his fingertips over one of the stones, a reverent gesture.

“You tried to steal the Sankara stones,” he accuses.

Justine, held in place by two guards and honestly wishing Willie was nearby with another serving tray, can’t quite hold back the scathing sarcasm that comes naturally to her. “And you stole all the children from Mayapore. Do you really want to compare the two?” Ram turns his hard gaze on her, mouth set in a firm line. “What are three stones compared to all those innocents?”

“There were five of them originally.”

“Oh yes, and that makes your crimes so much better.” She narrows her eyes at him, chin raised defiantly. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“That certainly wouldn’t be you, Doctor Laurent.” _Well, at least he addressed me properly. No one else around here does_. “In fact, you’re small enough to work in the mines. Nearly shaped like a boy.” She really hates how that remark makes her seethe, nails biting into her palms. “Maybe that is where we’ll put you. We’ll save your sacrifice for later and I’ll be pleased to watch as your heart burns in my hand.”

“Put your hand anywhere near my heart and I’ll bite it off.”

“Bite off both of his hands, Tina,” Indiana says from where he’s been chained to an old statue across the room. “That way he’s minus two hands and two stones.”

“The last two stones are somewhere beneath this temple,” Ram says. “That is why we need the children. They can reach places my guards cannot fit; they dig for gems to support our cause and for the stones.” He places a hand on Li’s head, only to jerk back when Justine tries to kick him. “Soon we will have all five Sankara stones and the Thuggees will be all powerful.”

“My, what a vivid imagination you have, Grandma.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor Jones, you’ll soon be a true believer of my cause.” He gestures and one of the guards stationed by the wall moves to stand in front of Indiana, powerfully built and menacing. A gate creaks as one of the boys from earlier comes into the chamber, his eyes glazed over as he hands Mola Ram a skull with a metal spout protruding between the jaws. _The Black Sleep_ , Justine realizes with a start, _they’re going to drug him_.

“Stop it,” she shouts, struggling hard against her guards. “Let him go! Leave him alone!”

“The time has passed for that, Doctor Laurent.” The guard forces Indiana’s mouth open and Mola Ram pours a thick liquid down his throat, Indiana trying to spit it out and choking for all his efforts.

“Spit it out,” Li shouts. “It’s bad! Spit it out, Indy!” Indiana manages exactly that once the guard releases his jaw, the brown gunk splattering over Ram’s face.

Ram growls something in Hindi, the Maharajah grinning as he brings out some sort of doll. It looks vaguely like Indiana, crudely carved and adorned with bits of leather to make a jacket and fedora. He holds it over an open flame and Indiana reacts immediately, back arching as a punched-out sound of pain leaves him.

Li lets out a growl of his own, kicking Zalim in the shoulder and knocking the doll out of his hand. There’s an instant of utter stillness after that, just one brief second of calm, and then Ram is growling out a new command. Li is tossed aside as his guards move to maneuver Indiana, turning him so that his back is facing the others.

One of Justine’s guards is forced to grab Li when he slams his chained fists against Ram’s side, hooking Li’s chain to one of the rocks before helping to restrain Justine again. It’s all one big blur of action that only seems to drop back into reality when a sharp _crack_ echoes through the chamber.

Justine’s vision goes red, teeth bared in a vicious snarl as the guard whips Indiana in the same moment that Zalim whips Li. She lunges backwards, forcing the guards to bear her weight as she kicks out at the young Maharajah, one bare foot connecting with his jaw and sending him sprawling back to the floor.

“Leave him alone,” she yells. “Don’t you touch him! He’s just a little boy!”

“Leave him alone, you bastards,” Indiana shouts. At a nod from Ram, one of her guards lands a solid punch to her middle, the blow driving her to her knees with a pained grunt. Indiana is shaking as he’s turned back around, barely managing to hold himself upright when his back is pressed against the statue again. His shirt is torn from his stolen whip, five lashes that have him too weak to struggle when the large guard pries his mouth open this time.

“No!”

“Quiet,” Ram commands,” or you’ll be whipped as well.”

She hates herself for falling quiet, for watching as Mola Ram brings the grinning skull back to where her friend is trapped. There are still bits of skin clinging to it, part of a nose that protrudes over the metal sluice. The syrup-thick liquid pours out smoothly, the stink of old blood making Justine feel sick. Indiana fights it, he does his best to keep from swallowing, but he doesn’t have a choice in the end.

“The British in India will be the first to fall under our might.” There’s pride in Ram’s voice, triumph in those deep-set eyes that makes them too bright. “The Muslims and their Hebrew God will be next, and then your Christian God will be crushed under our heels. But first we will have another sacrifice to test your new loyalty, Doctor Jones. We may not know where the other young lady is, but your assistant will do just fine.”

“I’m _not_ his assistant,” she snaps, then winces.

“Take her to the preparation chamber and throw the boy back in the mines.”

 

The worst part of being sacrificed is that the dress Justine is forced into is too gorgeous to be destroyed by magma. There’s also the fact that she could die at any moment, but that’s pretty much par for the course when one spends enough time around Indiana Jones.

She’s pacing the length of the chamber when Willie shoots up off the straw-covered ground, heaving in deep breaths and looking on the verge of a panic attack until she sees Justine. She’d been brought in twenty minutes ago, unconscious with the beginnings of a spectacular bruise spreading along the left side of her cheek. The same group of women that had dressed Justine came in to do the same to Willie, though with noticeably less cursing this time around.

“Not that I’m complaining about the new clothes, but what the hell am I wearing,” she asks, passing her hand over the necklace of colorful flowers.

“Ceremonial garb, I suppose,” Justine says, shrugging.

“And why am I wearing it?”

“Because they didn’t want to sacrifice us in our pajamas. Kâli must frown on poorly dressed offerings.” Willie frowns and fidgets with the long sleeves of her dress, looking close to tears now. “We’re going to get out of here, I promise.”

“Are we though? There are more of those thug people than there are of us. Hey, where are the rest of us?”

“They threw Li in the mine and…. I don’t know what they’re doing to Indy.” Justine wraps her arms around herself, trying valiantly to keep it together. She’ll be no use to anyone if she’s hysterical. “I think they drugged him to make him more compliant.” Her nails bite sharply at her arms, the pain helping to keep her grounded.

Willie flops back down on the hard floor of the cave, staring up at the stalactites. Even dragged down by exhaustion and a possible concussion, she’s still one of the most beautiful people that Justine’s ever seen. It’d be a shame to have all of that loud personality melted away.

Justine wants to sit next to her, to comfort her and promise that all of this will be a nightmare in a week, but she can’t. God help her, she can’t manage the lie when she’s so bone weary herself. She just wants to curl up on sun-warmed earth, feel grass tickling her bare feet and listen to her brother as he sings their favorite lullaby. She wants to be a little girl again, the one that always had a bright smile and no enemies apart from the spiders that made webs in the corners of her room.

Her eyes close and she sags against one of the walls, almost dozing as she remembers that easy childhood. She wanted for nothing back then, she was her father’s little princess and her mother’s plaything. Her brother used to tease her, but he never complained when she followed him to play, even taught her how to play the piano so she wouldn’t be bored while he was away at school.

She’s just able to picture what Gustave looked like in the last photograph his wife had sent; same unruly curls, same cheeky grin. He held a little girl in the last photo, her fine hair held off her face by a bow and her first tooth missing. Justine aches to see her niece in person, to hold her and sing to her, but there’s a reason she’s stayed in Connecticut for so long. A separation from her husband is one thing but petitioning for a divorce is a scandal that her father won’t hear of. Justine will be welcomed back when she shelves that notion and accepts René back with open arms.

Justine’s eyes snap open at the sound of the rusty gate being pulled back, a pair of priests standing in the doorway of the cave. They’re a grave looking bunch, these Thuggees, like crudely built automatons that run only on the blood of Kâli. Looks like she won’t have to worry about René after all.

“Come,” the taller priest says, beckoning the women forward.

“No.” Justine may be exhausted, but she’s stubborn above everything. They’ll have to drag her out of this cell kicking and screaming. The portlier priest brings a knife out of his robes and strides into the room, pulling Willie up by her hair and holding the sharp blade under her chin.

“Come, now.”

“Oh hell.” She allows herself to be dragged out by her arm, stumbling after the long-legged man down a long corridor and then out into the cavern. It’s the same one she’d seen a few hours ago, and the same cage is suspended just over the ground, ready for the next sacrifice.

Mola Ram turns to face the women, considering, and then bares his teeth in a feral grin more suited on a panther than a human being. “The American will be first,” he says. “Make the assistant suffer a moment longer before her fate.”

“I hope you all rot,” Willie yells, struggling as the priest shoves her into the cage. Two guards shackle her hands, indifferent as she switches between threats and pleading. Justine lashes out at the priest next to her and even makes it three feet before she’s tackled to the ground, a knee in her back to keep her from escaping again.

“Let her go! Damn you all!” Mola Ram raises a hand towards Kâli as he starts to chant, letting it rest over Willie’s chest for a moment before his eyes light up with an idea.

“Come,” he says, echoing his priest. “You will have this honor, Doctor Jones.” Indiana is standing off to the side, dressed in a pair of pants and nothing else, a red sigil painted on his forehead. He’s stone-faced as he approaches the cage, eyes glazed and wandering towards the chasm before drifting back to Willie. He looks like he’s sleepwalking, his mind far away.

“Indiana,” Willie pleads. “Don’t do this. You have to wake up. Please, don’t hurt us.” There’s a moment where his expression seems to go soft around the edges, one of his hands coming up to cup the bruised side of Willie face. Her tears are wet on his hand, they seem to confuse him.

“Indy,” Justine tries,” Indy, you have to come back to us. They’re going to kill us. They’re going to kill _Li_. Don’t let them do this.” He glances at her over one broad shoulder, taking in the way the priest has her trapped under the bulk of his weight. His hand wavers in the air, a fine tremor, and then he’s gone again. He closes the doors of the cage, chanting along with the people gathered across the fissure. “No!”

“Indy, stop!” He steps away and the cage is lifted into the air, flipped so that Willie can see that stone door set into the floor slide open, so she can see the magma swirling below. Justine feels ready to fall apart when Willie starts to scream in earnest, a heartrending sound that has Justine banging her fists on the stone.

“Get off of me! Stop this!”

“Doctor Jones!” Her head snaps to the side at the familiar voice, spotting Li as he comes running out of the shadows. He’s covered in soot and moves a little stiffly but looks no worse for wear aside from that. It makes something unclench in her chest when his little body collides with Indiana’s. If anyone can make Indiana wake up, it’ll be his surrogate son. “Doctor Jones, you gotta wake up!”

Indiana strikes Li across the face, the little boy staring up at him with tears spilling over. There’s a determination there as well, the same thing that’s kept him alive on the streets of Shanghai all these years. Wan Li isn’t going to die here, Justine realizes. If any of them make it out of here, it’ll be him.

Li wipes the tears off his face and sprints over to the wall, disappearing from Justine’s line of sight. She trusts him to get out of here, but someone needs to get Willie before she dies in that cage.

Justine throws her head back, hearing the satisfying _crunch_ of a broken cartilage and grunt from the priest. She’s able to buck him off her after that, a well-placed kick sending him deep into unconsciousness. She strides over to the chains suspending the cage, ripping off the sash tied around her waist and using it to protect her hands as she begins to shimmy her way down into the pit.

“I’m coming, Willie,” she calls.

“Well, come a little faster!” The cage comes to a jolting halt that makes Justine lose her grip, dropping her flat on top of the cage with a groan. “What the hell was that?”

“I took your words to heart and came faster.” She stands on unsteady feet, grabbing onto the chain to keep her upright. “I’m gonna turn the cage around, alright?” At Willie’s nod, she climbs up a short length of the chain and kicks the bottom of the cage, keeping at it until Willie is facing her instead of the lava. “Miss me, doll?”

“Get me out of here and I’ll show you how much I missed you.”

“Easy-peasy.” But then the cage is moving again and Justine’s hanging onto the chain for dear life as her feet swing to the left. “I should have just kept my mouth shut.” She swings back on top of the cage and hangs onto the thin bars, levering one of the doors open before the cage stops again.

“Oh God, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Just hold on a little longer. Li’s working on getting Indiana back to his senses.”

“I thought he was in the mine.”

“What can I say? The kid’s resourceful.” She gets the other door open as the cage begins to rise, her knees resting on either side of Willie’s hips. “Looks like God is on our side.” Willie just groans, head thumping back against the metal as Justine sets to work on the manacles. The heat makes things difficult, sweat dripping into her eyes and the metal stinging her fingers. “I need a knife to pry this open.” She looks up as the cage comes to a stop above the door again, eyes landing on a knife the unconscious priest has in his belt. “I’ll be right back.”

“What do you mean you’ll be right back?” Justine scrambles back onto solid ground long enough to grab the knife, then she’s climbing back into the cage and setting to work.

The seams along the manacles are thin, but she manages to wedge the tip of the knife into one side. One of the cuffs opens as the cage begins a rapid descent back into the pit, Justine nearly losing her grip on the knife when it stops just as suddenly.

“I swear to God, I’m never coming back to India,” Willie says. Her hair is plastered to the side of her face and neck, breaths coming a little too fast because of the heat. “Get me out of here, Tina. I can’t breathe.”

“Patience is a virtue, you know.” She gives Justine a look of disbelief, waggling her free hand through the air.

“Not right now, it isn’t!” The left wrist comes free and Justine’s able to turn to face Willie’s feet, working on those shackles next. “We’re rising again. If this is how bread feels in the oven, then I’ll never eat another slice.” Justine can’t help her laugh, an almost crazed sound as she gets one ankle free and then the other.

“Can you stand up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you run if we’re surrounded when we reach the top?” Willie’s blue eyes go hard as she sits up, grasping one of the chains and dragging herself to her feet.

“I see that little worm and I’ll punch him right in the throat.” In that moment, seeing Willie’s eyes glowing with hate and her teeth bared, Justine can understand why people cling to their religions. If they get out of here alive, then she’ll follow Willie anywhere as long as she’s welcome.

The cage comes to a stop above the pit once more and they step out ready for a fight. Willie lets Indiana help her down and then slaps him so hard that Justine is certain his _father_ can feel it. “Hey, wait, it’s me. I’m back.” She slaps him again, just as hard, before moving to help Justine down.

“Lock me in a cage again and I’ll make you wish you were never born, Jones. Now where’s that asshole gone to?” Mola Ram is nowhere in sight, it’s like the steam rising out of the crevasse swallowed him whole.

“He’s gone for now, but there’s a more pressing issue we have to deal with.” Willie turns to meet Justine’s gaze, crossing the scant few feet between them and pulling her into a deep kiss. Justine hasn’t exactly kissed a lot of people in her thirty-six years on this earth, but she can say without a doubt that Willie tops the list.

“Right,” Justine says when they pull apart. “Let’s go save those kids.”


	8. The Idiot's Guide to Cheating Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Drop them! We will drag the stones out of the river and leave your body for the crocodiles!”
> 
> “Well that’s just rude,” Justine grumbles.
> 
> “Right,” Indiana agrees. “Entirely uncalled for. This is why he has to put people in trances to hang around him.”

Freeing the children chained in the mine is a surprisingly easy task, all things considered. They’d seen Li escape and the surge of hopefulness after that has them more than ready to topple heavy rocks on guards from above, to tackle them and steal their keys. They give excited shouts as they go, all working in tandem without much herding on the adults’ part. Once unchained, the children spill down one of the shafts like a flood, taking two guards down under the sheer number of them.

The only real trouble starts once most of the kids are out and the large guard that had held Indiana’s mouth open steps into the cavern. Justine and Indiana share a look, silently communicating an idea that hasn’t failed them yet—attack at the same time and hope for the best. They do a lot of hoping in this line of work.

Indiana grabs up a sledge hammer to belt the man in the middle with it in the same instant that Justine leaps onto the guard. She wraps her legs around him like her life depends on it, sharp nails making deep gouges along his cheeks. She hangs on when he tosses Indiana and the hammer to the side, but then there’s a meaty fist clutching her dress and she’s tossed over the guard’s head.

Feeling entirely too old for all of this shit, she gets back to her feet with a handful of gravel and smears it in the guard’s face, the grit stinging his wounds and blinding him long enough for Indiana to land a few solid punches.

The fight is short and brutal, Justine kicked back to the ground while Indiana is dropped into one of the mine cars. She rolls onto her side and even manages a sitting position, but her ribs are burning and she’s fairly sure half of them are bruised at the very least. Bruised ribs aren’t the problem she chooses to focus on though, she has bigger things to worry about. Like her friend and that giant landing on a conveyer belt that dead-ends at a monstrous piece of machinery designed to crush rocks.

“Willie,” she calls,” a little help would be appreciated.”

“Right,” the blonde nods, moving from her hiding place. On the conveyer belt, Indiana lets out a sharp cry and drops, clutching at his knee. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Maharajah,” Li says, shooting past them. “I’m on it!” Justine focuses back on the task at hand, climbing one of the wooden stilts and up onto the belt. She comes up right behind the giant, using one of the larger rocks to bash him over the head.

Willie climbs up onto the belt in time for the giant to collapse to his knees, swinging a kerosene can against his face with all her might. The giant doesn’t move much after that, a handful of rotten teeth lying among the rocks like bits of coal. Working together, the three of them are able to roll him off the belt and to the solid rock below, concussed but alive. That has to count for something.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Justine says, breathless. “I need a warm bath and about two years of regular therapy after this.”

“Short Round,” Indiana calls. “Quit fooling around with that kid and get down here.” Li gives them a thumbs-up and then all of them are stumbling back to even ground, bruised and sore and ready to leave. Justine points to one of the carts on a track, the lantern on the front of it glowing a faint yellow.

“All in favor of taking a shortcut say aye.”

“Aye,” the other three echo.

“Get in and I’ll push,” Indiana says. There are no arguments from the others, all of them clambering into the iron cart and holding on as Indiana pushes them further down the track until it has enough momentum to keep itself going. He jumps in and they zip into the dark tunnel right as guards swarm into the mine from the second level, bullets ricocheting off the walls.

“We have to take the left tunnel to get out,” Li says as Indiana uses a spade to change the tracks away from the gunfire. “No, the left one! The Maharajah said the _left one!_ ” But it’s already too late, the cart swerving to the right and into a thick red mist. The track swerves and rises and dips like a roller coaster, the cart swaying dangerously from side to side.

“I think I left my stomach back at that last curve,” Willie moans. Gunfire starts back up and it has Justine wondering when being shot at became so commonplace.

“We can’t fight in the tunnel,” Indiana says, having to yell to be heard. “Let go of the break!”

“Are you crazy?”

“That’s not the point! We need to outrun them!” He yanks Li back and the cart picks up speed, slowly but surely putting distance between them and the guards. The cart takes a sharp curve on two wheels, balancing precariously over a lake of magma. Justine lurches to the right, dragging Willie with her until the cart has all four wheels back on the track.

“Indy, this is not what I signed up for,” she says, glaring at him past her mop of hair.

“I never said we wouldn’t be shot at in a tunnel after nearly being sacrificed.”

“God, I wish that sentence was weird to me.” She flops her head back against Willie’s chest, barely able to hear the steady _thu-thump_ of her heart over screeching wheels and gunfire. “No adventures for at least a year after this or I quit.”

“How can you quit if you’re not my assistant?” Her eyes narrow even further and she hauls him close enough to feel her puffs of breath against his face, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the front of his shirt. “I apologize and I’ll buy you a month’s worth of chunky monkey ice cream once we get back home.”

“Good boy.” She lets go and pats his cheek good-naturedly. “Now, get us out of this damn tunnel before my girlfriend starts hyperventilating.” Willie’s breath hitches in her throat, gazing cutting down to where Justine is lounging against her.

“Girlfriend,” she asks.

“Yeah, if that’s alright with you. I know a lot of women aren’t comfortable with such titles when referring to other women and that this is probably a relationship forged entirely on a near-death experience, but—”

“Shorty, take the break,” Indiana says, talking over the women. “This is gonna be an awkward conversation.”

“—I’ve really liked spending time with you in the jungle and I like your sense of humor. You’ve also got good taste in clothes and we’re the same size, so we could bankrupt my husband together. Oh, we could bludgeon him like you did that guard! Carrying through on a threat I made exactly ten months ago.”

“You’re off track, Tina.”

“Where was I?” He grunts, shoving a railroad tie out of the cart to slow down the guards behind them. It gets stuck under their rim, but the gunfire continues, and he’s forced to duck back down.

“You like her sense of humor.”

“Yes, thank you.” She looks back to Willie, who looks a bit like Errol Flynn just told her she was pretty; dazed, a little shocked, but her lips are crooked up in a smile. Indiana raises up a shovel and rakes it across the bottom of a water tower, the pieces collapsing down on the cart following them. “You’re a wonderful person and I’d really like to spend more time with you if we make it out of here alive.”

The tie beneath the cart catches on the wall and flips the guards, allowing the group a brief second of victory shouts until another cart speeds up behind them. _Just fucking typical_.

“Time for a shortcut,” Indiana says, using the shovel to hit the railroad switch. The cart veers off to the left, breaking past a white board with _Danger_ clearly written in bright red paint. “Uh…. Oops?” The other cart speeds down the other track, disappearing to the right.

“Even the guards didn’t use this track, Indy,” Willie growls. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things. We can talk about that later.” The other cart comes up on a parallel track, not even two feet between them.

“Oh, goddammit.”

“Hold onto your jewels, Princess. I can handle this.” As if to prove his point, he snatches a rifle from one of the men and smashes the butt of it against the guard’s face. The third in the cart snags ahold of Li’s top, pulling him half out of the cart. Willie and Justine grab onto him, barely keeping him in as the tracks begin to drift apart.

“Indy, shoot him! Shoot the bastard!” He fires the last round into the man’s head, then tosses the rifle into the bubbling lava below.

The carts separate entirely, the tracks parted into two tunnels. When the guards appear again, they’re on a track above them, one of the guards jumping down. Justine rises up out of a crouch with the shovel, swinging it hard enough to crack the man’s jaw and knock him into the ditch.

“Where the hell did you learn to swing like that,” Willie asks, flabbergasted.

“I watch a lot of baseball.” The tracks join again, the lone guard working the break instead of firing at them. “Would you like to do the honors, Miss Scott?”

“I’d love to, Doctor Laurent.” She takes the shovel and chunks it at the guard, the wooden handle catching in one of the wheels and sending the cart tumbling sideways down a ravine. Willie looks proud as a peacock at her victory, even giggling despite the bullet-riddled cart. Justine loves seeing her this excited, lets her have her moment, but then she’s grabbing Willie and ducking back into the cart.

It hits the end of the track and hangs in the air for a few split seconds before dropping back onto the remainder of the track with enough force to have Justine’s teeth clacking together. She really needs to find a new job.

“Breaks, Shorty,” Indiana says. “Slow us down.” Li nods, pulling the break until it…. Well, _breaks_. The wood shaft of it is old and rotted, splintering where it connects to the cart and coming up in Li’s hand.

“Oh, that just figures,” Li grumbles. Indiana takes the shaft from him and jams it against the metal piece over the wheel, veins standing out against his arms as he struggles to make the cart slow down again. “We’re gonna crash!” The track ends abruptly dead ahead of them, a rock wall that will have their brain matter splattered across it in just a few seconds.

“A little help here!” Justine grabs up a rusted pick-axe from the bottom of the cart, swinging hard enough to drive the end of it into the wall beside them. Sparks fly from the wheel and wall alike, the metal leaving an ugly scar in the rock, but Justine can’t bring herself to care when they coast to a gentle stop half a foot away from the wall ahead of them.

“I need a drink.”

“You’re ten.”

“Well I’m thirty-five,” Willie says, clumsily sliding out of the cart,” and I say I’ve earned something that’ll get me drunk fast. Maybe some vodka.” Justine groans in agreement, climbing out and pulling Li out after her. “I’ll even give Shorty a taste of it. He’s earned it.”

“Water….”

“Of course he’ll have water to go along with it. I’m not an idiot.” Justine glances up when she hears a roaring coming from down the tunnel, a wall of water rushing at them.

“No….” He grabs Willie’s chin and turns her face so she can see the new threat closing in on them. _“Water_.”

Li is off like a shot, the others sprinting behind him and down a side shaft that leads to a new tunnel deeper into the mountain. Justine can even see a glimpse of sunlight down the way, can almost smell the fresh air. The water ruins that, of course. The force of the water is like nothing Justine’s ever seen, crushing metal barrels of kerosene, taking out support beams, and ripping up half a mile of track.

The end of the tunnel leads to a sheer drop down the mountain. The group splitting up on the thin ledge on either side as the water comes gushing out. It erodes the rock fast, slamming support beams through the wall of the tunnel.

For just a moment, as the rock under her feet gives way and starts to tumble down the cliff, Justine isn’t sure she’s going to make it home. Then Indiana is yanking her up and against his chest, one arm around her waist and the other wrapped around a protruding beam.

“We gotta climb,” he shouts. “Think you can do it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice!” He urges her up and closer to the wall, waiting until she’s got a head start before climbing up after her. The face of the mountain doesn’t offer much in the way of hand-holds, but Justine manages as she comes up and to the side until she’s on flat ground again. It turns to dirt a few feet later, a simple path that leads to a rope bridge.

“I think we finally caught a break.” Two black-clad guards jump out from the trees, brandishing scimitars. Justine sends him an unamused look, already settling into a fighting stance.

“I think you just need to stop talking.” The men charge forward and Justine drops, throwing the bulk of her weight against Righty’s legs. There’s a crunch of breaking bone when he tumbles down and his ankle twists under her body, the man letting out a pained howl. He also drops his sword, so that comes in handy. She picks it up and runs it through Lefty’s middle before he can drive his own sword through Indiana. “What would you do without me?”

“Still get brutally murdered.” She stiffens, the sword held in a loose grip.

“A huge swarm of guards are coming up behind me, aren’t they?”

“Yup.”

“Then I suggest we get the hell out of here before they catch up.”

“Agreed.” Justine is really getting tired of all the running she’s done in the past week. She isn’t the type to exercise in her free time, but she’s fairly certain she can run the mile in under a minute now.

Willie and Li are already on the other side of the bridge by the time Indiana and Justine catch up with them, a second group of Thuggees waiting for them. The other two don’t break their stride until they’re halfway across the bridge, guards coming up on both sides of them and cutting off their only way off.

“Let them go, Mola Ram,” Indiana yells.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to give orders,” he calls back. The amusement in his tone is enough to make Justine want to survive this on spite alone. Indiana seems to have the same idea, holding his satchel containing the Sankara stones over the bridge. It’s a long fall to the riverbed below, more than two hundred feet if she has to guess. The rocks will turn into diamond-flecked rubble if he drops them.

“I think I’m in a great position! Let them go or I drop them!”

“Drop them! We will drag the stones out of the river and leave your body for the crocodiles!”

“Well that’s just rude,” Justine grumbles.

“Right,” Indiana agrees. “Entirely uncalled for. This is why he has to put people in trances to hang around him.”

“You know what this reminds me of?” The men on either side of them are edging forward, their swords drawn and ready. “That time we got lost in the Carpathians.” Indiana and Justine press their backs together, brandishing their stolen swords. “You remember? When the bridge broke….”

“…. And we swung to the other side of a cliff,” they finish together. Mola Ram is forcing the other two onto the bridge ahead of him, the blade of his knife winking in the sunlight.

“Well,” Indiana says,” it’s worth a shot.” He wraps his leg through one of the ropes holding the bridge together, Justine doing the same thing with her left hand. “Hey, Shorty, remember that bedtime story you love so much?”

“Yeah,” Li calls back to him.

“You’re about to find out what it was like firsthand.” All it takes are a few hard swings to make the ropes snap, sending most of the guards into the water without any warning. Justine clings to the bridge as it slams into the rockface, feeling something give in her wrist where it’s caught.

“Yep,” she says, nodding. “That was just as awful as I remember it being.”

“It was _your_ idea.” One of the planks of wood breaks under Mola Ram’s hand, the priest falling against one of his guards and grabbing ahold of the fraying rope. The guard isn’t so lucky, plummeting down into the river with a harsh _smack_.

Indiana grabs Ram’s ankles, pulling and swinging until the man is hanging on the bridge directly next to him. Ram presses a clawed hand over Indiana’s heart, beginning a familiar chant that has Indiana bucking under him. Justine surges upwards, sinking her teeth into Ram’s hand and not letting up until she tastes blood.

Ram bats at her until he’s able to start climbing again, knocking the last guard off their side of the bridge. He shouts something in Hindi, then the guards on the other side of the gorge are firing arrows at them.

“I really hate that guy,” she says, climbing faster. Ram’s almost to the top now, close enough for Willie and Li to kick at him until he loses his grip. He falls with a shout, grabbing the back of Indiana’s shirt and dragging him down in a tangle of ropes. “Indy?”

“I’m good.” She slides down a couple of feet, clinging to the bridge with her good hand so she doesn’t fall when she starts kicking at Ram. He bats at her again, but he can’t fight two people at once no matter how powerful he thinks he is. One well-placed kick to his hand and an open-handed slap to his face has him toppling backwards, screaming the entire way down.

“I can’t believe that cut-the-rope trick worked a second time.”

“I can’t believe it worked the _first_ time.” There’s shouting above their heads as they start up the bridge again, bullets zipping through the air and sending the guards stumbling to the ground. The pair share a look and shrug. “Maybe they’re on our side this time.”

“Stranger things have happened.” The men they find when they finally reach the top are khaki-clad with blue turbans, led by the British Captain that had attended dinner with them last night and the young Maharajah.

 

The village of Mayapore isn’t quite as depressed as it had been a few days ago, the people going about their lives with the hope that their children will be back soon. The Shaman that had greeted them after their ride in the lifeboat meets them at the border, smiling and chattering like he already knows the surprise they’ve brought.

The kids of Mayapore come rushing past the group and into the village, shouting and calling the names of their parents. The villagers drop everything and charge forward to meet the children, meeting in the middle in a near-violent clash of bodies, clutching and pulling and laughing. The sound is enough to have Justine smiling, leaning her head against Willie’s shoulder.

They make their way through the crowd of people, Indiana digging the stones out of his satchel to hand to the Shaman. The man grins wider, chattering away in excitement as he takes the three of them with careful hands.

“We knew you would be back,” he says. “Our crops came back, and our cattle did not die. We knew you’d bring our children.”

“We’re pretty great,” Willie says, grinning. She tugs Justine against her, hands around her waist and careful not to nudge her broken wrist. It’s throbbing something awful, but Justine is thoroughly distracted from it when Willie’s lips press against her own. “Now, what were you rambling about in that cart? Something about my sense of humor?”

“Would you be my girlfriend?”

“I would love to be your girlfriend. I have a condition though.”

“Oh yeah?” Willie nods somberly, lips pulled into a frown. She’s serious, no sign of hysteria to tinge it this time around.

“I’m not going on anymore adventures.”

“Deal.” She looks beautiful like this, blonde hair hanging down her back and haloed by sunlight, dressed back in the simple button-down and pants. Justine wants to hold her close and kiss her until they run out of air.

So she does.


	9. For the Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do I do now?”
> 
> “You work on things that make you happy and, eventually, you forget all about the man that didn’t deserve your love. You live out the dream of finding hidden treasures, breaking men’s hearts, and becoming the person teenage you would be proud of.” Justine nods, lips pursed as she thinks that over.
> 
> “That’s great advice, but what about right now?”
> 
> “Right now we get really, really drunk.”

“It’s official,” Justine says with a sad smile, setting the stack of papers down on the counter.

“What is,” Indiana asks, coming to stand next to her. In the dim light of her kitchen, he looks more handsome than ever. His blond hair is ruffled from the wind outside and his cheeks are freshly shaven, which is still strange after seeing him with stubble for so long. “Oh, divorce papers.” He rubs his jaw, leaning back against the counter so he can look at his friend. “You don’t look too happy about it.”

“I am, it’s just….” She gives a pathetic laugh, wrapping her arms around herself. “René and I were always thrown together during the parties our families hosted; we grew up alongside each other. He was so handsome back then and I loved him so much, he could do no wrong in my eyes. We actually made a promise when we were teenagers, you know.”

“What was it?” Indiana is smiling softly, the one he reserves for the people he’s closest to. Willie, standing next to him, is frowning. She hasn’t met René yet, probably never will, so she doesn’t quite understand why Justine is still a little soft for him.

“That we would get married the day after I turned eighteen, we’d travel the world finding adventures and hidden treasure. We’d have two handsome boys and a beautiful little girl to spoil, they would have my eyes and his hair. Once we were old, we would retire to a house in the countryside that had a vineyard in the backyard just like his parents’ house and we’d be surrounded by our children and grandchildren, loving each other until the stars died.” She shakes her head a little, blinking back tears. “And then I learned what kind of man he was, I met you and Willie, and I realized that the life we dreamed of was as stupid as I am.”

“Hey now, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Willie states, firm. Justine scoffs and looks away, but Willie puts her fingers under her chin and forces Justine’s head back up so she’s meeting her gaze evenly. “That relationship you had with Belloq was the only type you’d been exposed to, Tina, it’s not your fault that you thought it was completely normal. Besides from what I’ve heard that bastard is as manipulative as it gets, so who could fault you for thinking he was God’s gift to women?”

“So you don’t think it’s embarrassing for me to be thirty-six and divorced with no children to carry on my family name?”

“If you were married, then I couldn’t do this.” Willie bends down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She savors the contact, loving the way Willie focuses all of herself into the kisses and the warmth of her hand on Justine’s lower back.

“If you had any children other than Shorty, then I couldn’t whisk you away with me on adventures of our own,” Indiana adds. He’s still leaning against the counter, looking right at home.

“What do I do now?”

“You work on things that make you happy and, eventually, you forget all about the man that didn’t deserve your love. You live out the dream of finding hidden treasures, breaking men’s hearts, and becoming the person teenage you would be proud of.” Justine nods, lips pursed as she thinks that over.

“That’s great advice, but what about right now?”

“Right now we get really, really drunk.”


	10. Spiteful Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justine Sophia Laurent has faced down mercenaries, she’s survived countless booby traps and a _cult_ , all without flinching, but spiders…. Spiders are just terrifying.

Two archaeologists accompanying each other deep into a mostly unexplored jungle wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. They get along well with each other, they even love each other in a way, like you’d love a sibling that’s also nearly been sacrificed in India. The problem with these particular archaeologists working together is that, combined, their self-preservation is only a half-remembered concept.

Also, they’re both too stubborn for their own good.

“I _am_ going into the cave,” Justine states. She has her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at her colleague. She hasn’t come this far and nearly been shot by a traitorous guide to just stand around outside like some sort of fainting damsel. “There’s nothing you can do or say that will stop me.”

“You’re staying out here and keeping watch,” Indiana shoots back with his hands on his hips. Both are glaring, both are too hard-headed to turn back now, and both are exhausted after the long trek through the jungle. Sweat makes their clothes stick to their bodies uncomfortably and Justine has walked the last mile with a pebble in her boot.

“I am not! I’m going in there and I’m going to handle that damned idol with my own two hands, and I’ll let you hold it on the way back if I’m feeling generous.”

“You know what? _Fine_. Just waltz inside like you own the damn place, but I don’t want to hear you complain when you set off a trap!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” She flicks some of her hair over her shoulder and starts inside, making it a grand total of ten feet before tucking tail and running back out. She’s pale beneath the dark flush of red, looking nauseated at what she’d seen. “Spiders?” Justine nods and swallows hard, finding a nice rock to sit on.

“It’s all yours, Indy.” He looks smug as he and the only remaining guide walk into the cave, but Justine doubts he’ll be so smug when he realizes the spiders are the size of horses. She shudders at the memory of hairy legs crawling over her back, involuntarily swiping her hand over the spot.

Justine Sophia Laurent has faced down mercenaries, she’s survived countless booby traps and a _cult_ , all without flinching, but spiders…. Spiders are just terrifying.

With a sigh, she shrugs out of the overcoat she’d been wearing, letting it drop to the ground as she focuses on rolling up the sleeves of her button-down. Normally she wouldn’t be caught dead in trousers, but long strolls through jungles in search of ancient treasures mean wanting as much protection as she can get. Still, she has a nice skirt and blouse waiting for her in the little hotel in the village and that thought keeps her going more than the golden idol that Indiana is so obsessed with obtaining.

“Spiders,” she mumbles, heaving out a long breath. “Why did it have to be spiders?” Rats are something she can handle, bats are simple as long as they don’t get tangled in her short hair, but _spiders_.

Justine shakes her head, stubbornly pushing all thoughts of eight-legged monstrosities out of her mind and focusing instead on what planning needs done for them to return to Connecticut.

“We’ll need tickets for the trip home.” She stands despite her aching feet protesting she does otherwise, pacing in front of the cave’s entrance and ticking things off on her hand. “Transportation to the air strip, some light snacks for the flight, tests to be graded, museum to be notified of our find…”

She bites her lip, trying to remember if there’s anything else that needs to be done. There’s the little problem of teaching her own French class at the college, but the students were given light homework to keep them busy while she was gone, so that will be easy to grade.

 _I could always just stamp an A on them and call it done_. Surely her students grasp the verbs by now and those that don’t probably shouldn’t be taking a French class at all.

She continues mumbling to herself for a few moments more, realizing there is more to do than when she’d left in the first place. She still has tests to write and an entire lecture to pull out of thin air for a guest spot in Indiana’s archaeology class the day after their return. Him focusing on Egypt for a week is always her favorite part of the year, but it also serves to double her workload.

It’s not until she feels a hand on her shoulder that Justine realizes she’s no longer by herself, letting out an undignified squeak as she jerks back a couple of feet. The man who’d scared her only laughs in response, breathy and almost sarcastic as Justine covers her chest with one hand.

“ _T'es rien qu'un petit connard_ ,” she hisses in return, glaring at the man. He’s a full head taller than her, dressed more like an English tourist than an actual archaeologist with an honest-to-God _pith_ _helmet on_. Sure, René Belloq is a handsome man, but the pith helmet—and his personality—aren’t exactly things that make him shine in a positive light in her eyes.

“Such foul language,” he scolds, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in her. She knows this expression well after seeing him do it for years, though she no longer finds it as endearing as it had once been. “What would your father say if he could hear you?”

“He’d probably agree with me.” He smiles even as her frown deepens, looking every inch the charming man she’d grown up alongside. Back when they were still young, she’d thought he could do no wrong, but now she knows the truth. He’s a cold-blooded murderer and a grave robber with nothing in his life he doesn’t view as a possession.

Justine looks over Belloq’s shoulder, finding the guide that had run off after nearly shooting Indy, supported by the native tribe called the Hovitos.

“I see you still don’t want to face Indiana in a fair fight.”

“Brains over brawn, my dear.”

“Cowardice, you mean,” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “You would never beat him without any help, so you make sure you always have someone bigger to fight your battles for you.”

“And you think Doctor Jones is any better?”

“I _know_ he is.” She looks at the cowardly Peruvian man again, giving him a spiteful sneer that she usually reserves for her ex-husband alone. “And you, trying to kill the only person in two hundred miles that could lead you to the idol, you’re nothing but a rat of a man.”

“Actually, my dear, he’s a _corpse_ of a man.” Her stomach drops at that, wide eyes turning to look back at Belloq. It never fails to make her sick, the realization of the man she’d loved being a monster disguised in a gentleman’s clothes. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. He’s hardly the first man to die in pursuit of the Chachapoyan idol.”

“You’re disgusting.” His brow twitches in a micro-expression that means she’s dealt a blow to his vanity. She doesn’t care anymore, hasn’t in years now, and she’ll do him another blow as long as she can keep the bile down.

“You don’t look so grand yourself,” he shoots back. “I suppose Jones is taking care of the booby traps inside.”

“And he’ll take care of you too. One of these days, you’ll fight him and you won’t be walking away.” Belloq comes to stand next to her again, warm fingers curling along her chin with just enough pressure to tilt her head back. “I hope I’m there to see it.”

“You really do.” His voice is soft, but his gaze is hard as he stares down at her. Justine jerks her chin out of his grasp, rubbing her sleeve over it as though to wipe away the feeling. “Perhaps one day Jones and I will have that fight, but what will you do if I’m the victor?”

“Finish the job myself.” He opens his mouth, looking ready to launch in the familiar spiel about how she isn’t cold enough to kill him, but he’s cut off by a thundering _boom_ that echoes through the jungle and sends birds flying away. They both spin to face the entrance of the cave, finding Indiana sitting in the tall grass with a large boulder lodged in the entrance, looking up at both of them in a daze. “What…?”

“Ugh,” Indiana groans in answer. He’s absolutely covered in cobwebs, thick things that stick to him like thin burial shrouds. _Willie would pitch a fit to see him like this_ , Justine thinks with a vague sense of amusement.

“I think I’d prefer to be stuck in that cave with the spiders.” She jerks her chin in Belloq’s direction, sneering at him in disgust. “At least those spiders aren’t wearing pith helmets.”

“Not everyone is born with a keen eye for fashion,” Belloq says, stepping closer to Indiana. The other man stares up at Belloq with the slightly glazed expression of a man that’s just beaten death only to end up facing something much worse. It’s an expression that Justine has seen much of in the past seven years. “I believe you have something for me, Doctor Jones.”

“A swift kick in the pants,” he grouses.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of that revolver you’re so fond of.” He holds out his hand and Indiana slaps the gun into it with a scowl. Behind them is the sound of bowstrings being tightened, arrows pulled back into a firing position in case Indiana tries anything funny.

“I thought you’d grown bored with this expedition.”

“Just frustrated. It’s so hard to find good help these days.” Belloq glances over his shoulder in time to see the dead guide drop to the ground with a heavy thud. “Perhaps I should steal my wife back along with the idol.”

“Unless you got remarried in the past year, then you have no wife. And the reason you have no wife is because you talk about her like she’s an object.” He peers past Belloq and Justine gives him a proud smile. “That’s why she makes me cupcakes.”

“Don’t try and distract me with thoughts of food. Give me the idol.” Justine and Indiana lock gazes for an instant, blue flicking towards the pistol tucked away in Belloq’s belt and back to gray. Justine nods her understanding and eases closer, making it look casual so she doesn’t get shot in the ass with a poisoned dart.

Willie would never let her live that down.

“Too bad the Hovitos don’t know you the way I do,” Indiana says, pulling out the coveted idol from the safety of his coat. Sunlight, fractured as it breaks through the canopy overhead, makes the idol gleam; fairly small, around the size of a football, it must be a heavy weight in Indiana’s hand.

“Yes, that is too bad for them. They think I’m here to keep you from stealing their idol.” Justine doesn’t have to see Belloq’s face to know that he’s smiling, an amused thing that used to make butterflies swarm in her belly. “If only you could warn them, Jones.”

“Think they understand Latin?”

“Something tells me they wouldn’t quite grasp it.” Justine slowly reaches out one hand, fingers grazing the butt of the pistol and beginning to wrap around it. The idol is in Belloq’s hand now and he straightens from where he’d bent over Indiana, holding the idol up and shouting something victorious in a language Justine doesn’t understand. The tribe all drop to their knees in reverence, heads bowed and weapons lowered.

Justine’s gaze flicks to her friend and he nods, getting to his feet. They move in tandem, Justine yanking the stolen pistol out of Belloq’s belt while Indiana snatches the idol from his grasp. The Frenchman doesn’t get the chance to protest, Justine cracking him behind the ear with the gun before taking off at a dead sprint through the trees.

Indiana is right next to her, slapping vines and thick leaves out of his face as he goes. They just need to make it two miles, then they can swim across a river to where their plane is waiting on them. _Ugh, I really hope there aren’t any leaches this time_.

They don’t even make it a full mile before arrows and darts begin shooting past them, the Hovitos hot on their trail. Justine really wishes she could say being chased through strange jungles while the indigenous people shoot weapons at her is a new thing.

Justine and Indiana blow past the statue that had terrified one of their guides, then the mules that had been left behind with gear still strapped to their backs, and then Justine can see the river.

A dart whistles past her ear close enough that she can feel the gush of air it’s carried on and she speeds up even more.

They burst out of the trees, now on a steady downhill slope that makes her boots slip and slide in places, grass damp from the humidity. The slope could have been covered in chocolate pudding and she wouldn’t have cared because she can see the plane now, and she can see the pilot fishing off the side of it.

“Jock,” Indiana yells,” start the engine!” Jock, for his part, drops the makeshift fishing pole into the Urubamba River and climbs up the wing before dropping down into the cockpit. “Start the engines! Get it up!”

Justine splashes into the water, wading up to her waist until she can clamber up onto one of the steps and then up over the air strut until she can flop into the seat behind Jock. Indiana climbs in after her, squeezing and wiggling until he’s half in her lap with one of his feet propped on the wing.

The plane slowly gains altitude and then its doing a graceful curve that takes them away from the angry tribe below, and more importantly, away from the goddamn _spiders_.

“God almighty, I smell awful,” Justine groans, resting her forehead on Indiana’s shoulder. “I need a long soak in a hot bath.”

“Yeah, and I need a— Holy shit! Jock, there’s a snake! There’s a snake in the plane!” Jock spares the pair a glance over his shoulder, his grin showing off teeth that are yellow from nicotine.

“That’s just Reggie,” he calls back to them. “Show a little backbone!” All the color has drained out of Indiana’s face and he uses one booted foot to gently nudge the boa further away. “Relax, man, he’s harmless!”

“Harmless, my ass,” he grumbles under his breath. Justine gives a breathless laugh, ignoring the cold scales rubbing over her foot. _I’ve lost a boot_. She wonders when it could have flown off without her realizing it, but she’s not terribly worried. It was the one that had the pebble in it.

“Did you get the idol,” she asks, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, it’s in my satchel.” He brings the bag up for her to dig through, smiling when she lets out a little gasp. It’s an ugly thing, ninety percent of it is an enormous head with bared teeth while the rest is a torso with legs folded under it. She was right earlier, it’s fairly heavy in her palms, the gold smooth and warm.

“The museum’s really going to owe us for bringing this to them.”

“Marcus will make sure your boots are replaced, Tina.”

“I’m more concerned about finding a nice enough restaurant to take Willie to since I missed Easter for this little trip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “T'es rien qu'un petit connard” = You really are an asshole.
> 
> I got the translation off Google, so let me know if it's wrong.


	11. The Army's So-Called Intelligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If Hitler is looking for the Ark, then that’s why he’s after Ravenwood as well,” Indiana explains. “Ravenwood lived and breathed anything to do with Tanis and the Ark. The man was obsessed. He never actually found the city of Tanis, but he did find some artifacts. You should just go talk to him.”
> 
> “We’re a little suspicious of him at the moment,” Eaton says. “To have an American mentioned so baldly in a secret Nazi telegram doesn’t exactly put us at ease.”
> 
> “You two are dumber than I thought you were if you really believe Abner is working with the Nazis. He didn’t like Germany even before Hitler came to power. He’d turn them away on principal.”

“So who celebrates Easter in Autumn anyway,” Indiana asks, glasses on the edge of his nose. “I mean, that’s kind of…. Stupid.”

“Willie’s going to be in New York during Easter this year and she wants to make sure we celebrate it before she leaves.” Justine shovels another forkful of salad into her mouth, bare feet propped up in the extra chair across from her. They’re in Indiana’s office after a successful first day of class after their break and Justine’s already itching to leave again. “She’s going to make a huge dinner tomorrow night and she’s hiding eggs for Shorty. You should come.”

“Hell, you had me at free food.” She snorts and earns a grin from him. “She does realize Shorty’s a little old to be hunting eggs, right?”

“You’re never too old for fun.” To tell the truth, she thinks Willie’s missing Li and this is a good excuse to have him home for a few days. “Have you heard anything from Marcus lately? Any news?”

“Nope.” Justine sets her bowl on the desk and picks up a napkin, a flimsy paper thing that’s so popular here in America. She misses the cloth ones her grandmother had been so fond of, the cream ones with missed stitches and uneven ends, her mother’s first attempt at sewing. “You gettin’ antsy, Tina?”

“Something like that. We’ve just been doing a lot of teaching in the past year.”

“I believe that was your idea. You said we need a stable homelife for Li to grow up in and us running off on adventures will disrupt that.” Justine scowls over at him. _How dare he use my own logic against me like that_. “I could call him after dinner tomorrow. Put the word out that we’re ready for another job.”

“Willie won’t like that.”

“Tell her to pack a bag and come with us.” Justine lets out a loud bark of laughter, an ugly sound that comes right from her belly. “What’s so funny? Surely she’s gotten over that India fiasco by now.” Justine keeps laughing, can’t seem to control it as she doubles over and her feet slap against the floor.

“Are you kidding me,” she finally manages, wiping tears off her cheeks. “She still wakes up in the middle of the night and runs to the bathroom to make sure there aren’t any bugs in her hair! That’s the part that traumatized her, Indy, the _bugs_.”

“Not the near-death thing?”

“No, she was able to cope with that.” He shakes his head, leaning back in his seat with a fond smile. “The nightmares are further apart now that she’s got a project to focus on. They’re turning the India fiasco into a film with Carole Lombard, Errol Flynn, and Merle Oberon as the leads.”

“Do Carole and Merle end up together or are the filmmakers fighting that decision?”

“They’re fighting it.” It’s ridiculous to think that women can’t fall in love and those people in New York are stupid for thinking such a thing. “I told her to just let Carole and Errol fall in love in the end. What does it matter when we all know the truth?” Indiana shrugs, blue eyes holding steady where they focus on where her hands are shredding the napkin.

“Want me to kick their asses for you?”

“I can kick ass myself but thank you for offering.” There’s a knock on the frosted glass window, drawing Justine out of her spiraling thoughts. “Come in.” The door opens to reveal Marcus Brody in all his splendor. If he’s here with a new trip, then she’ll kiss him. “Hello, Marcus.”

“Justine, always wonderful to see you.” The old man bends down and presses a kiss to her cheek before shaking hands with Indiana over the desk. Marcus is in his mid-fifties by now, his hair slowly turning gray and brushed back off his face, skin tone a little pale in contrast to the black of his three-piece suit. Handsome, all the same.

“What brings you by, Marcus,” Indiana asks. “Is there something wrong with the idol?”

“No, no of course not. The idol is just fine, we’ll have it out on display by the Spring.” Justine studies Marcus for a moment, the way his hands are in his pockets and the slight frown tugging his lips downwards. Something’s up. “I’ve, uh, brought someone to see the pair of you.”

“Who?”

“Well, a couple of people.”

“Who, Marcus?”

“Government people.” The words are slurred and under his breath, but Justine still picks it up.

“Excuse me,” Justine asks, leaning forward. “Did I mishear you or did you actually bring government personnel to the college?” She should probably get her citizenship papers out of her desk just in case. Americans aren’t very friendly to people that weren’t born here.

“Relax, Justine, they’re army.”

“Even worse.”

“They’re not here about your papers. They’re here about Abner.” Justine and Indiana go still at the name, Justine only vaguely aware of who the man is. Indiana doesn’t talk about his old mentor often, the man has reached almost mythical status in Justine’s mind; Abner Ravenwood is a genius when it comes to archaeology, the leading expert in the field, Indiana’s best friend until a mysterious falling out shortly before Justine came to America.

“What do we want to see them for,” Indiana asks, gathering up the things he needs for his next class. Rolled up maps, an armful of books over the Neolithic period. “Are we in trouble?”

“They aren’t telling me anything. Army Intelligence are a secretive people.”

“Who the hell is intelligent in the army?”

“Let’s go find out.” Justine and Indiana share a brief look and then they’re moving, Justine shoving her feet into a pair of flats before following the men out of the cramped office.

Marcus leads them to one of the larger lecture halls, the nice one with mahogany and stained glass. Justine isn’t allowed to teach in here. She thinks it’s because she told the Dean of Students to shove his sexism up an orifice the man would prefer to keep exit only. Two men are waiting for them near the front of the room, seeming to lack the intelligence their job title boasts of. They’re older, soft in the middle and wearing suits that are a bit too big in the shoulders. Off the rack instead of tailored.

“Professor Jones,” says the one with a receding hairline. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of stories.”

“All of them false,” Indiana says distractedly. He’s setting his things aside on a table, opening one of the thicker books to a page with a diagram drawn on it. The table, podium, and chalkboard are all up on a platform, positioned so that the speaker will be the center of attention. “Tina, could you clean off the podium?”

“So this is your assistant?”

“You’re on thin ice, pudgy,” she snaps. “Watch your step.”

“Justine Laurent is a professor as well,” Indiana states with a hard stare in Pudgy’s direction. “She’s got a doctorate in archaeology the same as I do, and she’s got a reputation of her own. She’s also a sociopath-in-training and won’t hesitate to loosen the bolts on your tires.”

“That’s right. I’ve done it before.” Pudgy clears his throat and sends a look over his shoulder at his colleague, a smaller man with a pinched smile. More grandfatherly than army, probably a pencil pusher.

“My apologies, Doctor Laurent,” Pudgy says, sounding almost genuine.

“What is your name?”

“I’m Major Eaton and this is Colonel Musgrove.” He gestures at the other man with one hand, the other stuffed into his trousers pocket. “We’re here for some information, Doctor Jones.”

“Sit down,” Indiana says, nodding towards the chairs around the table. “It’ll be easier for me to concentrate if your aren’t pacing around.” The two men sit, and Justine busies herself by arranging the math books from the last lecture. “Now, what information do you two want?”

“We need to know about Abner Ravenwood. More specifically, any reason news you may have received from him.”

“I haven’t even talked to the man in ten years. Last I heard he’s somewhere in Asia.” Musgrove cuts his gaze towards Justine, seeming resigned to having to talk in front of her. She’s not going anywhere when it means fresh gossip.

“What we’re about to say isn’t allowed to leave this room,” Musgrove says. “Not even if your…. Significant other tries to drag it out of you.”

“I don’t have one of those at the moment. Tina does, but she doesn’t care for this sort of thing.” Musgrove leans forward and clears his throat, glancing around conspiratorially as though someone may be hiding under a chair nearby.

“Yesterday afternoon, our European sections intercepted a German communique that was sent from Cairo to Berlin.” Justine settles the books down on the floor, dusty old things that smell like mildew. Any news from German forces is sure to be interesting, especially if it means finally knocking those bastard Nazis down a peg or four.

“The Nazis have had teams of archaeologists running buck wild around the globe,” Eaton says, bulldozing right over whatever Musgrove is trying to say. “They’ve been at this for two years, chasing a bunch of superstitious nonsense that Hitler is all bananas about. Right now, all that energy is focused just outside of Cairo with one of his top men supervising, Dietrich or something.”

“And what does that have to do with Justine and me?”

“Musgrove, show him the copy.” The Colonel digs a piece of paper out of his suitcase and lays it flat on the table. “Maybe you can understand what the hell is being said.”

“ _Tanis development proceeding_ ,” Musgrove reads. “ _Acquire headpiece, Staff of Ra. Abner Ravenwood, U.S.”_ Justine runs a hand along her neck, the excitement beginning to bubble up inside of her like a bottle of soda that a rowdy child has just shaken. If she’s putting all the pieces together properly, then this will be the dig of a lifetime. This will be the biggest discovery in all of human history. This will be downright _biblical_.

“That make sense to any of you?”

“It means the Nazis have discovered Tanis,” Indiana tells them. Justine can see the same excitement shining in his eyes, like a little boy on Christmas morning. This is what their careers have been leading up to, by God. This discovery, if they’re allowed to discover it, will make her divorce scandal seem like small change.

“And just who is that?”

“Not a _who_ , Tanis is a _place_. It’s where everyone thinks the Lost Ark is.” The two army men are sporting the same expression Justine’s first year French students have when she spits out sentences in rapid fire. A bit on the blank side, mouths slightly open, an encroaching sensation of dread. “You know, the Ark of the Covenant? The Ten Commandments were carried around in it.”

“The _actual_ Ten Commandments? The ones from the Bible?”

“Did I stutter? You gotta tell me, ‘cause I tend to do that when I get excited.”

“It’s true,” Marcus agrees. “His first year teaching here was an amusing time, to be sure.” But the military men still look like scared little boys that have woken up with a venomous snake on their chests. “You two have no idea what he’s talking about, do you?”

“None whatsoever,” Justine says, shaking her head. “I’ve never so much as skimmed the Bible and I know about the Ten Commandments.” One of her nannies had been deeply religious, Justine was actually a bit sad when the woman was fired. “Okay, so Moses supposedly broke these stone tablets and the Hebrews stored the broken pieces inside the Ark for safekeeping.”

“That’s right,” Indiana picks up. “They eventually settled down in Canaan, they stored the Ark in the Temple of Solomon. It stayed there for years before suddenly vanishing one day. No one knows where it was taken, they don’t even know for sure _when_ it was taken, just that it was gone.”

“An Egyptian pharaoh named Shishak invaded Jerusalem in 980 BC,” Marcus says. “It’s believed that he took the Ark back to Tanis as a war prize. It’s supposedly stored in a hidden chamber called the Well of Souls. A year later, after the pharaoh left Tanis, it was hit by a vicious sandstorm and the entire city was swallowed by the desert.”

“The storm lasted an entire year,” Justine finishes. “When it ended, not even the smartest man in Egypt could find it again. My nanny used to say God grew angry that an Egyptian had touched the holy object and made sure that no other person ever would again.”

“If Hitler is looking for the Ark, then that’s why he’s after Ravenwood as well,” Indiana explains. “Ravenwood lived and breathed anything to do with Tanis and the Ark. The man was obsessed. He never actually found the city of Tanis, but he did find some artifacts. You should just go talk to him.”

“We’re a little suspicious of him at the moment,” Eaton says. “To have an American mentioned so baldly in a secret Nazi telegram doesn’t exactly put us at ease.”

“You two are dumber than I thought you were if you really believe Abner is working with the Nazis. He didn’t like Germany even before Hitler came to power. He’d turn them away on principal.”

“Then why do they want him so badly?”

“Because they think he has the headpiece to the Staff of Ra.” The blank expressions are back, never really had the chance to leave in the first place. “Remember when I said he collected artifacts from Tanis? That might have been one of them and it’s extremely important if anyone actually wants to find the city.”

“It’s like the last dash before the X on a pirate’s treasure map,” Justine adds. “Get the headpiece and you get the Ark.”

“Here, let me show you.” Indiana flips the chalkboard over to the clean side, grabbing a piece of chalk from Justine’s outstretched hand and beginning to draw. He makes a circle the size of his fist and another circle dead in the center, then draws the body of a shaft coming down from it. “What you gotta do is put the headpiece on a staff and set it up in a map room inside Tanis at a certain time of day.”

“How tall is the staff,” Eaton asks.

“No one knows for sure.”

“And what’s the importance of the staff if you can just go to the map room?”

“You set the staff up in the map room, the sun shines through a crystal in the center of it—” he taps the chalk against the small circle “—and the sunlight transforms into a focused beam of light that shows where in the city that the Ark is hidden.”

“And what does this Ark look like?”

“Oh, I got a picture right here. I was going to focus on this later on in the semester.” He opens the thickest book on the table, flipping though it until he finds the right picture, spinning the book around for the other men to see. The picture has been carefully inked, showing a failing, cowering army and, up on a dais of stone, are three men holding an elaborate chest with golden rays of light shooting out of it.

“Good God.”

“That’s probably what the Hebrews were thinking,” Marcus says, quiet.

“And what’s the lights coming out of it.”

“Wrath of God, lightning, take your pick.”

“I’m beginning to understand why Hitler’s so obsessed with this. This Ark could do some real damage.” Justine stiffens at the cold calculation on Eaton’s face, arms crossing over her chest. Men like this, power hungry morons with barely two braincells to rub together, will always put her on edge. They will decimate an entire civilization just because it’s different.

“The Bible talked of this power leveling mountains and laying waste to entire regions. Far too powerful for any man to possess in this day and age.” The three scholars share a look, knowing what will happen if the Nazis or these men get control of the Ark. It should remain buried, to be hidden away from the world where it can do no harm to anyone.

Indiana and Justine need to find it before the Nazis do.


	12. Bullet-Riddled Easter Bonnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m Justine Laurent and I’m here to keep Indy out of trouble.” There’s another bout of gunfire that rips through the night, more splintering wood and cursing. “I’m not always successful.” Marion arches a brow and Justine gives her a sheepish smile. “It’s a work in progress.”
> 
> “I can see that. What do we do?”

_“If I could write a sonnet_ ,” Justine sings, barely heard as she cards her fingers through Willie’s hair,” _about your Easter bonnet….”_ The landline rings in the kitchen, ear-piercingly shrill in the otherwise quiet Autumn night. “We’ll just ignore it. I’m sure Indy will tell us the news in the morning.”

“No,” Willie sighs. “He’ll just keep calling.” She sits up, the strap of her nightgown falling off one shoulder. Justine wants to kiss it, feel the soft skin against her lips. “I’ll make us some tea and you answer the phone before it wakes up Shorty.” Justine nods and gets up, but not before kissing that bare patch of skin that smells faintly of apples. “Go before you start something Indy won’t let you finish.”

“I’d love to see him try and drag me away from you.” She presses another kiss to Willie’s lips, teasing. Willie grins up at her, where Justine is standing between her knees with her hands on Willie’s shoulders. She’s grown her hair out, the riotous curls falling to nearly halfway down her back. Justine loves her hair, loves braiding it and tugging on it.

“Go,” Willie laughs. “Come on.” She stands and pulls Justine after her by a wrist, both of them falling quiet as they pass the partly opened door of Li’s room. School is an exhausting affair, but he’s already near the top of his class and Justine brags about him whenever she has the chance.

Willie goes to the cupboard once they reach the kitchen, grabbing the tea bags while Justine answers the phone.

“Laurent-Scott residence, this is Justine speaking.” There’s a faint crackle of static on the other end, and then Indiana is speaking.

“We leave early tomorrow morning, Tina. We’re really going after the Ark.” She can’t help the zip of excitement any more than she can help the guilt that chases after it, chancing a glance over at where her girlfriend is steeping teabags. She doesn’t deserve Wilhelmina Scott. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.” Willie looks up over her shoulder, reading everything she needs to know in Justine’s posture. There’s no flare of anger or even resignation, her eyes are glittering, and she gives Justine a give-em-hell grin. Yeah, she _really_ doesn’t deserve this amazingly wonderful human being.

“Pack tonight and I’ll swing by to get you in the morning.”

“Sounds good, Indy. Pleasant dreams.” He scoffs and even without being there she can see his wide, shit-eating smile.

“As if I can sleep with all the planning that needs to be done. I’ll see you in a few hours.” And then the call cuts out, the dial tone ringing in her ear until she hangs up the phone. She rests her head against the skin-warmed plastic, relaxing when she feels an arm snake around her waist.

“I’m leaving in the morning.”

“I figured,” Willie says, breath a warm puff of air against Justine’s ear. “Drink your tea. I’ll go pack your suitcase and then we can snuggle.” Justine turns in Willie’s hold so she can look up at her, a dimple appearing between her brows as she realizes how observant Willie is. “What?”

“You know me so well.”

“Of course I do. I love you, remember?” It’s a startling revelation, what love means between adults. It’s not arguing over petty things or scathing remarks over meals, it’s isn’t a hand colliding with your cheek after a dinner party where you said the wrong thing. That’s Belloq’s idea of a relationship.

Willie’s idea is sharing a blanket and a book on rainy afternoons, picnics in the summers with Li playing nearby. A relationship with Willie is smiling and laughing and sweet caresses. They still fight on occasion, still argue, but it never becomes physical. There are apologies afterwards, words smothered by tears instead of fine jewelry or new hats thrown on the bed. Willie _cares_.

And Justine does, too.

* * *

The fifteen-hour flight from Connecticut to Nepal is an uneventful one that Indiana mostly dozes through. Justine finishes her Agatha Christie novel and three glasses of champagne by the time they land. She’s a little tipsy, but she feels she’s earned the drinks. “ _In your Easter Bonnet_ ,” she’s singing, loudly now and off-key,” _with all the frills upon it—“_

“We get it, Tina,” Indiana grumbles. “You love Easter and Willie and frilly hats. You can stop singing now.” She laughs, a free thing that has her tipping head back to admire the darkening sky. “Come on.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders and steers her towards a building with a wooden sign hanging over the door. _The Raven_ , it reads, the words roughly etched into the wood.

“Abner owns a bar?”

“No, that isn’t his style.”

“Then who…?” Indiana’s moving again before she can finish her sentence, fighting to go forward against the tide of people emptying out onto the street. Justine hangs back a moment, the cold air helping to sober her up. A rather tall man is standing in the doorway once the others clear out, arching an unimpressed brow in Justine’s direction.

“Help you,” the man asks.

“Probably not. I’m waiting on my friend.” The man shuts the door firmly behind him and sends her a pointed look before striding away. She looks back to the bar, taking in the rustic style of the place. All in all, it looks like it could be blown over in a strong breeze, but places like this are made to last. The Raven will probably just fine when Justine is riddled with arthritis and regaling Li’s children with tales of the glory days.

Indiana comes out ten minutes later, one of his cheeks a bright red and tender if the way he keeps rubbing it is anything to go off of.

“You got hit, didn’t you?”

“Turns out Marion’s not all that fond of me anymore,” he says, wincing. “I can’t really blame her for that.” Justine lets out a huff, the exhalation turning into a cloud of white vapor. “She thinks her dad might have left the headpiece behind, but she wants until tomorrow to dig around for it.”

“She’s Abner’s daughter?” Indiana nods and the guilt in his eyes makes it pretty easy for Justine to connect the dots. The mysterious falling out had nothing to do with a difference of opinions and everything to do with Indiana’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. Not that surprising, really.

“Come on, I’m pooped. Let’s find an inn to stay at and get out of this cold.”

“Sounds good to me, Indy.” They make it a full block away when Justine draws Indiana to a halt, peering back over her shoulder at the group of four men they’ve just passed. Two of the men were natives, but the other two were as white as snow. They don’t belong here anymore than Justine and Indiana do, and they’re heading straight for the bar. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” She nods in the direction of the bar, Indiana turning just in time to see the group enter. “That bar is closed.”

“Something tells me that Nazis don’t care about closed signs.” They share a brief look and then they’re moving, both of them crouching down beneath one of the shuttered windows. They may not be able to see, but the sound carries.

“… Hope for you sake they have not yet acquired it,” one of the men is saying, his German accent unmistakable. Justine _really_ hates Nazis.

“Depends on how much money you’re willing to offer,” a woman, presumably Marion, asks. She sounds young, maybe in her late twenties if Justine has to guess.

“Do you still have it?” There’s a moment of silence, a heavy thing that settles over everyone like an avalanche of snow. 

“Don’t have it, but I know where my dad keeps it stored. Come back the day after tomorrow and I can have it ready for you.” There’s a brief flurry of movement, two sets of footsteps going in opposite directions. “How about a drink for you and your men before you leave?”

“I do not drink while out on assignment.” Justine tenses, ear pressed against one shutter as she tries to make anything out. “Why don’t you tell me where the piece is, and I’ll send my men after it?” He makes it sound so reasonable and Justine finds herself hoping that this Marion woman is stubborn enough to hold out.

“Listen _Herr_ Mac, I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to dealing with and I don’t care. You don’t get to waltz up into my bar after closing and start making demands. You can come back in two days or you can piss off.” _Stubborn spitfire_ , Justine thinks with amusement, _exactly Indy’s type_.

“How about I show you how I’m used to dealing with people?” There’s a command snapped out in German and then Marion is hollering at the tops of her lungs, glasses shattering and a few grunts to be heard. Indiana and Justine have heard enough, Indiana drawing his pistol and Justine settling for a staff that had been abandoned nearby.

“Go around the back,” Indiana whispers, making a walking gesture with two fingers.

“This place has a back,” she asks. He shoos her away and she goes with a scowl, finding a window near the back of the bar that she’s able to wiggle through. “This is such bullshit. I should have gone inside and turned on the charm.” She keeps the grumbling up as she follows the sounds of fighting, hefting the staff like a baseball player.

She rounds a corner just in time for the gunfire to start, jumping backwards and watching the wall crack under the force of the bullets pelting it. Her face had been there not five seconds ago. Justine likes her face bullet-free.

“Hey,” she shouts. “Ruin my face and my girlfriend will end your damn life, buddy!” The man that had shot at her, a tall white guy, actually lowers his gun just long enough for Justine to bring her staff up. The dull edge cracks against his jaw and sends him tumbling to the floor.  

“Tina, down!” She drops on instinct, the wall above her head exploding seconds later. She’s beginning to grow tired of all these people shooting at her. This is _not_ why she got her doctorate.

Justine shuffles over behind the bar, watching as a few stray bullets force a log out of the fireplace. The log settles in a puddle of booze, igniting it in a blazing trail right over a table and catching on a man’s sleeve. The man stands from where he’d been crouching, shouting and waving his arm about until he goes rigid.

“What happened,” asks the woman beside Justine.

“I don’t….” Blood slips down from a jagged hole in his forehead, red covering the man’s face like a veil. “He was shot.” The man drops as though just coming to the realization that he’s dead, his legs folding beneath him like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Jesus Christ!”

“He’s not much help in times like this, but you’re welcome to pray if it makes you feel better.” The woman glances over at Justine, all puppy eyes and adrenaline-fueled terror. Marion Ravenwood is beautiful, she’s got freckles and blue eyes and a pert little nose that could fit inside a bottle cap. Beautiful, but _young_. Too young for all this nonsense, far too young to be so alone up here in the mountains.

Justine wonders how her girlfriend would feel about adopting a woman in her twenties. She probably wouldn’t go for it.

“Who the hell are you?” Right, back to the situation at hand.

“I’m Justine Laurent and I’m here to keep Indy out of trouble.” There’s another bout of gunfire that rips through the night, more splintering wood and cursing. “I’m not always successful.” Marion arches a brow and Justine gives her a sheepish smile. “It’s a work in progress.”

“I can see that. What do we do?”

“Stay low and hope those men continue to be awful shots.”

“Give me the staff.” Justine hands it over, watching as Marion levers herself up just enough to ram the staff against a man’s head. It collides with his temple and another hard knock has him falling unconscious behind the bar.

“Where’s the last guy?”

“There’s two of ‘em.”

“What? No, I counted before we came inside. There were four.” Marion shakes her head in something like sadness and nods towards the entrance. The tall man from earlier is standing there, wrestling to get a good hold on Indiana before walking him forward and slamming him face-first onto the bar top.

“Goddammit, Mahdlo.” Above them, surrounded by smoke from the growing fire, Indiana stares down at them with one cheek smashed flat against the sticky wood of the bar. At this angle, unable to see the giant man holding him down, he almost looks like a petulant little boy.

“Where the hell did that guy come from?”

“How should I know,” Indiana growls, words coming out slurred. There’s a clink of a glass being tipped over and then flames are zipping along the bar, following a trail of alcohol past broken bottles and toppled shot glasses. “Whiskey.”

“You want to add more fuel to this mess,” Justine hisses in disbelief.

“Would ya just trust me for once? Gimme a bottle.” Marion is the one to hand a bottle up to him, Indiana smashing it against Mahdlo’s face and driving him backwards enough to straighten up again before the fire can reach them.

Justine jumps up when the gunfire stops, grabbing a bottle of Jack and throwing it at the trench coat-wearing worm of a man that’s trying to run for the door. The bottle hits him between the shoulder blades and he stumbles to the ground by one of the overturned tables.

“Can we just shoot that guy now,” Marion demands, rising from her crouch. “He tried to burn me with a fire poker!”

“Some people just have no class,” Indiana says. He’s got one booted foot on Mahdlo’s cheek, his .45 aimed down at the man to keep him still. “Go ahead and finish him off, Marion.” She nods and grabs up the staff again, revenge making her glow. The Nazi, a weasel with a balding head and glasses that make his eyes seem to bulge behind the rims, pulls his hand from the fire with a wheezing cry and scrambles out of the bar faster than Marion can keep up with him.

“I don’t mean to interrupt anyone’s quest for vengeance,” Justine says, breathless,” but the bar is on fire and I’d rather not have my obituary say I died from something as stupid as smoke inhalation.” _I’d rather die from something stupid like fighting off three people during a high-speed pursuit._ Marion nods, yanking off her scarf and wrapping it around something on the floor before allowing herself to be herded outside.

The drastic change from blazing heat to below freezing is enough to drive the air right out of Justine’s lungs, the woman doubling over to try and force herself to breathe. She isn’t made for all this cold, God designed her for mild heat and a drink that costs no less than two hundred dollars. She’s high maintenance like that.

“Well, congrats, Jones,” Marion yells over the howling wind. “You just earned yourself a goddamn partner!”

“Oh, like hell I have!” Marion grins and holds up the treasure she’d saved from the fire, a bronze disk with a ruby just off-center, Hebrew writing circling the edge. It’s the headpiece they’ve been looking for all these years. And who would normally think to come all the way to Nepal to find it? To ask the owner of a ramshackle bar, barely scraping by? “Tina, tell her she can’t come!” Justine matches the wrathful smile Marion’s sporting, pulling her heavy coat tighter around her.

“Looks like you’re finally getting that assistant you’ve always wanted,” she hollers back.


	13. Nazis Sharing Brain Cells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As fascinating as all of this is,” Sallah interrupts,” perhaps we should be getting back to the Nazis that are trying to pay us pennies for all the work we do.” Justine snaps her mouth closed, biting back a scathing barb that would probably hit Indiana below the belt. And if she slouches the tiniest bit, then the men have the good sense not to bring it up. “It’s as if the pharaohs have returned and I’m just waiting on whips to be cracked.”
> 
> “That’s probably not far off.”
> 
> “And there’s only one brain among the whole lot of them. The Frenchman is cunning, but those others have two brain cells they have to share.”

The bustling city of Cairo is comfortably familiar to Justine after two years of fieldwork here, the blazing sun so much better than all that snow. She relaxes the father they go, the skirt of her dress swishing around her legs. She’s missed Cairo, the smell of exotic spices, the wonderful coffee, the _people_. Connecticut is all well and good with it’s fancy clubs, but Egypt is more like home.

“Happy to be back,” Indiana asks with a smile.

“More than I thought possible.” She’s smiling as well as she glances around at the houses rising far above her head. Sallah’s is coming up, sitting on the next block and filled to bursting with all his children.

Justine met Sallah el-Kahir in 1922 when they were both assisting on a dig in the Valley of the Kings. It had been her first year away from France and Belloq had been in a terrible mood since they weren’t coming up with anything of significance. Had they arrived a month earlier, they could have assisted Carter and Lord Carnarvon in excavating the tomb of Tutankhamun.

Sallah is the one that introduced Justine and Indiana to each other back in 1927, probably hoping the pair could keep each other out of trouble. His plan failed spectacularly.

“Have you two been here a lot,” Marion asks, eyes wide as she tries to take in everything.

“I’ve been coming here off and on since 1913,” Indiana says. He has a hand on the small of Marion’s back, an intimate gesture with his thumb rubbing up and down the line of her spine. “I even met Tina here.” They turn a corner and find the house they’d been looking for, Sallah waiting for them out front. Sometimes Justine thinks her friend has spies throughout the city. How else can he know exactly when the others step off a plane?

“My friends,” he calls out in his booming baritone voice. Sallah has his arms outstretched, pulling the archaeologists into a bear hug. He smells faintly of sweat and coffee, a somehow comforting scent that sends waves of nostalgia washing over Justine. “It’s always wonderful to see the both of you!”

“Always wonderful to be seen,” Justine says with a laugh. “Is Fayah inside?”

“Yes, she’s trying to herd the children out on the patio for lunch.” Justine slips inside the house and moves up to the second floor, finding the woman in question trying to get a sullen twelve year old to listen to her. The boy glances up at the sound of a floorboard creaking and his eyes brighten when he spots Justine.

“Auntie,” he cries, attempting to barrel past his mother. Fayah grabs the back of his shirt and jerks him back to face her, brows arched as Moshti lowers his head in resignation. “Mom, Auntie Tina is here.”

“And your mother is right here in front of you,” Fayah says in a stern tone. “Now go wash your hands and be outside for lunch in the next five minutes or I’ll give your auntie your serving of zalabya.” Moshti’s eyes grow wide and he darts off for the closest bathroom, hip checking his sister on the way.

“Looks like bribery works on children of all ages,” Justine muses. Fayah turns with a tired smile, patting Justine’s cheek. “I told Li I’d give him three dollars if he promised not to start anymore fights at school.”

“Did it work?”

“Surprisingly enough it did. He didn’t start any fights, he just finished them.” Fayah snorts and shakes her head in amusement. She’d been gorgeous when she was younger, and her looks haven’t dimmed any in the passing years. She looks more tired and the wrinkles are slowly growing deeper, but her smile still lights up her face and her heart is open.

“Come on, let’s get outside and start fixing plates for the younger ones.” Justine follows Fayah out onto the patio that overlooks the busy street below, grabbing a couple of plates and urging two of the nine children to come over and help.

Between the two of them, they’ve got all the children settled and eating by the time the others make it outside. Justine grabs a plate she’d set aside and hands it off to Indiana, winking when he notices the extra helping of Fayah’s excellent ta’meya.

“Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite,” he asks.

“Sure have, but I’ll do you the favor of not telling that to Shorty.” He laughs and nudges her with his shoulder. There’s a burst of laughter from the children’s table, the adults turning to see what brought it about. “Is that a monkey?”

“That’s a monkey.” Marion moves closer to see it, letting out a surprised yelp when it jumps up onto her shoulder with one little paw resting on her head. “I think it likes you, Marion.”

“That’s because it has good taste,” she says primly. The monkey can’t smell too good after rolling around in juice and smashed fruit, but Marion handles it with the skill only a seasoned bartender or a mother can manage. Fayah, laughing as well now that she knows what’s going on, simply grabs up a date and hands it over to the monkey.

“As long as it’s with you, it will be welcome in our house,” Fayah declares, grinning just as widely as her husband. “But I do expect you to clean up any messes it makes. I’ve got plenty of monkeys of my own to tend to.”

“And I have none,” Justine states, hands on her hips with pride. No monkeys mean no messes.

“You have Jones and he’s the biggest monkey of them all. We should get him a red vest to match his new sister’s.” She nods at the little monkey that’s got its fingers hooked in Marion’s mouth and then towards Indiana. “You could take their picture and use it for your Christmas cards.”

“Not a bad idea, Fayah. They’re practically twins.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Indiana snaps, though he can’t quite fight back his smile. It’s a crooked thing, that smile. It reminds Justine of the rakes in all of Grandmother’s romance novels; handsome with just the right amount of passion to make all the ladies swoon. Of course, the swooning bit would work better if Justine wasn’t more interested in women than men. All genders have their appeals, but she tends to get more satisfaction with the feminine ones.

“Didn’t we come here for a reason, Indy? More than just to visit with our extended family?” He takes the unsubtle hint to get over it and turns to face Sallah.

“She’s right, there is another reason we came here.”

“I figured,” Sallah nods. “I didn’t think you’d be long in showing up once those Germans set up camp near here.” Sallah motions for them to sit at the abandoned table, all the kids chasing Marion and the monkey over to one end of the patio. “They’ve been here about a week or so, maybe a few days more.”

“And the map room? Have you found that yet?”

“Three days ago.” Justine fights not to slump as she sits down, keeping her back straight and her hands in her lap. She’s a lady and ladies don’t slouch even when Nazis are tap dancing all over their dream excavation. She bets they’re not even documenting their finds or taking photographs! Amateurs.

“They’re moving fast.”

“Aye, they are. Of course, not as fast as they _could_ be going. I’m the best digger in all of Egypt and my crew are nothing but loyal to me. If I say to go slow, they go slow and the Germans are none the wiser.”

“Sallah, if you weren’t married and I wasn’t engaged I’d kiss you,” Justine says with a smile.

“Tina, you’re not engaged,” Indiana says, brows furrowing as he turns to look at her. She has to sit there a moment, recounting everything that happened on that last night in Connecticut. They’d had their Easter shindig, played games and hunted eggs, wrestled Indiana into a pair of bunny ears, and then Justine had proposed before they went to sleep. Except, now that she’s really thinking back on it, _she hadn’t freaking proposed._

“I knew I was forgetting something.”

“Do you even have a ring?”

“Yes! I bought it before we left for India!” But again, _no_ she _hadn’t_. The beautiful ring she’s picturing—square-cut, sapphire, small diamonds surrounding it and set into a silver band—was on-hold for her at the local jewelry store. She was supposed to buy it with the money she’d made off acquiring the Chachapoyan fertility idol. Only, instead of picking up the ring, she’d gone home and fell asleep on the couch for six hours, ate half a cherry cheesecake, and then slept for another eight hours.

Jesus, she really needs to start writing things down.

“You forgot the ring! How do you forget the ring? Actually, how do you plan on getting someone to marry you and Willie? All the local priests are against same sex relationships.”

“I’m winging it.”

“As fascinating as all of this is,” Sallah interrupts,” perhaps we should be getting back to the Nazis that are trying to pay us pennies for all the work we do.” Justine snaps her mouth closed, biting back a scathing barb that would probably hit Indiana below the belt. And if she slouches the tiniest bit, then the men have the good sense not to bring it up. “It’s as if the pharaohs have returned and I’m just waiting on whips to be cracked.”

“That’s probably not far off.”

“And there’s only one brain among the whole lot of them. The Frenchman is cunning, but those others have two brain cells they have to share.”

“Frenchman?”

“Yes, the others call him Bellosh.” Justine can’t help her snorted laughter, that ugly sound from Indiana’s office that makes her toes curl in her shoes. She bets that little pet name makes all the anger in the world boil up in René’s blood. If there’s one thing he doesn’t abide by, it’s people getting his family’s name wrong.

“Belloq,” Indiana corrects, trying his best to smother his laughter. “It’s _Belloq_. Oh, this is too good.” He turns to Justine and swats playfully at her arm. “This is our chance to get back at him for nearly killing us that time.”

“Which time,” Justine asks.

“Uh, well, the last one. Hell, this is the _Ark of the Covenant_. We steal that out from under his nose and it basically makes us even on the whole score _and_ that paper he stole from me back in school.”

“I don’t know about all that, but the Germans do have the advantage,” Sallah says. “They are close to discovering the Well of Souls. As I said, that Frenchman has a rather large brain.”

“Good for them, but they’re not going to find the Well without this.” Indiana pulls the headpiece out of his back pocket, slapping it into Sallah’s hand with a proud smirk. “You know anyone that can translate those markings?” Sallah examines it in the low light of late afternoon, taking in the engraved wings and the bird with a ruby the size of a thumbnail set where the bird’s head should be.

“I might know someone who lives near the center of the city. I can take you to see him tomorrow.” Sallah sets the headpiece down on the table, thick fingers tapping out the rhythm of some Gilbert and Sullivan song. “Indy… There is something that’s troubling me about all of this.”

“What is it?”

“The Ark is not something that man is meant to disturb. God buried it for a reason. For all we know, those government people that came to talk to you plan on using it in the coming war.” Sallah leans forwards in his seat, one broad hand covering the headpiece as if he can make it wink out of existence on sheer willpower alone. “I will help you keep it out of those others’ hands, but you must make me a promise.”

“Anything, Sallah, you know that.”

“Do not let those government men use the Ark.”

“Sallah, those government men will be lucky if Justine and I even let them know we got it safe.”


	14. The Good, the Bad, and the Frenchman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who is this Willie person,” he asks, genuinely curious. Another adventurer, perhaps? She’s always had thing for rakish men. “Does he work at the college?” She scoffs and shakes her head, then seems to regret the movement as she sways again. She needs to be lying down, but Belloq isn’t going to be the one to tell her that.
> 
> “Willie is an actress and a writer.” Her voice is on the breathy side, revealing just how exhausted she still is. “She’s my fiancée. Well, she will be once I buy the ring and propose and find someone to marry us. I’m working on it.”

René Belloq isn’t the biggest fan of Cairo, it’s too loud and there’s too much sand that gets _everywhere_. He’s never been the type to like getting his hands dirty in either the metaphorical or literal sense, but some things need to be done personally.

The reason for his trip to the market turns a corner up ahead, a disposable cup in one of her hands and a canvas shopping bag in the other. Justine is radiant in his eyes, a pretty little trinket to show off at get-togethers. She’d never been much for a wife once she was grown, however. She’s far too stubborn to submit. Still, there’s part of him that still loves her as he did when they were teenagers. He supposes that part of him will always view her through rose colored glasses.

Belloq remembers their last trip here as a couple, the way she’d nearly swooned over the culture. Justine had spent as much time as possible in this section of the city, immersing herself so she could learn the languages and all other manner of things. Belloq used to tease her about taking all the wrong classes at college, that she should have been and anthropologist rather than an archaeologist. She had laughed and laid her head against his shoulder back then.

Now here they are, nearly a decade later, back in that same section of city where they had once walked arm-in-arm. Justine’s in a dress that hangs loosely around her, still in fashion but comfortable. Her hair is done up in the usual chignon, a few strands of it curling loosely against her nape.

Justine is slowly making her way to a quieter area, her shopping bag nearly full. She passes him without noticing, close enough that he can see wisps of steam rising up from her cup. Belloq, glancing around to make sure Jones is nowhere around, follows her. In her own world, Justine never notices as he closes the distance, bringing a syringe with a small dose of morphine out of his coat pocket.

He can hear her humming now, head swaying back and forth to whichever song has captured her attention this year. Belloq raises the syringe, taking one last step and pressing the needle into her backside, depressing the plunger. He doesn’t give her the full dose, but he doesn’t have to. Justine’s always been something of a lightweight.

She squeals and jumps away, stumbling as she turns to look at who had just drugged her. Her eyes widen when she spots him, lips parting in a gasp. “What have you…?” Justine trails off, the canvas bag dropping down onto the cobblestones as she presses a hand to her head. “What was…?” It’s like she can’t force the words out, like they turn to mist before they can roll off her tongue.

“Just some morphine, dear,” he says, putting a safety cap back over the needle and pocketing it again. “Just enough to make you a little more manageable.” She tries to take a step forward and ends up swerving to the left, shoulder colliding with the wall of a building. “Feeling a little sleepy?”

“Bastard.” And then she’s toppling to the ground, the cup of coffee rolling away in a semi-circle. It turns the surrounding sand into mud, Belloq sidestepping it in order to pick up the unconscious woman. That makes it one down and one to go. Not a bad day’s work if he does say so himself.

* * *

As Justine is handed off to a pair of soldiers and transported to the base camp just outside of Cairo, Marion is being whisked away in a laundry barrel.

Belloq meets with Jones briefly, a smug superiority twisting his lips into something like a smile because he knows something that Jones doesn’t for the first time in ages. He knows that the two women are hale and hearty, he knows how tall the Staff of Ra is, and soon he will know the location of the Ark. And what does Jones have now?

Aside from nine children that herd around him with sticky hands, Belloq doesn’t think he has very much at all.

* * *

Justine is still asleep when Belloq makes it back to his tent that afternoon, sprawled out on his bed in the clothing she’d put on that morning. He goes about taking off her shoes and setting them aside before removing the dress and brassiere to make her a little more comfortable. She’s always in a better mood when she’s comfortable.

Seeing Justine unconscious is always a strange thing for Belloq, the fire and passion driven out of her body and replaced with all the contentment of a lounging house cat. The sharp edges soften, and he can almost see the girl he’d been raised alongside, no malice in sight as she rolls onto her back.

This is a sight he’s intimately familiar with; Justine in only a silk shift and stockings, full lips parted as she sighs and one delicate hand resting next to her head on the pillow. He loves it when she wears silk, how it conforms to the soft lines of her body and leaves nothing to his rampant imagination whenever she breathes in deep.

He kneels on the edge of the cot and runs his fingers over her cheek, growing bold when she doesn’t stir. His fingers follow an invisible path along her jaw and down her neck, then farther down to a rounded hip.

Belloq presses his lips against hers, Justine responding almost hungrily as he squeezes her hip. Her lips part farther and her tongue darts out, drawing a deep groan out of him as he settles more firmly against her. Their bodies fit together well after years of committing this very act and it seems pure instinct that one hand moves to clutch at his shoulder while the other buries itself in his hair.

His mouth follows the same path his fingers had taken earlier, trailing wet kisses along her throat until he reaches her shoulder, sinking his teeth in the way she likes. Justine gasps, eyes still shut tight as his hand moves from her hip to her backside to deliver a firm squeeze that has her hips bucking against his own.

“Willie,” she moans, voice raspy and sensuous. It’s like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water over him, Belloq’s arousal wilting just as fast as it had appeared as he draws back sharply. Had he been a crueler man, he would’ve slapped her hard enough that she was out of commission for a week. Instead, he drops both hands to the thin mattress and digs his nails in hard enough to create small rips. “Willie?”

“Not quite, I’m afraid.” Gray eyes flutter open, the drug still in her system if her dilated pupils are anything to go by. It takes her a moment to put two and two together, but then all that fiery passion comes rushing back and she uses a well-placed kick to his chest to get him off the bed before jumping to her feet as well. She sways unsteadily to the left, a hand on the collapsible table to regain her balance.

“Touch me without my permission again and I will remove something you deem precious, René.” 

“Who is this Willie person,” he asks, genuinely curious. Another adventurer, perhaps? She’s always had thing for rakish men. “Does he work at the college?” She scoffs and shakes her head, then seems to regret the movement as she sways again. She needs to be lying down, but Belloq isn’t going to be the one to tell her that.

“Willie is an actress and a writer.” Her voice is on the breathy side, revealing just how exhausted she still is. “She’s my fiancée. Well, she will be once I buy the ring and propose and find someone to marry us. I’m working on it.” She’s also babbling, which is always a precursor to her falling sound asleep. “Where are my clothes?”

“Your hand is on them.” She turns to look down at the neatly folded stack of clothes before her knees give out and send her back down on the cot. She lands on it with a soft sound of surprise, a lock of hair falling in front of her face.

“Oh….” Justine’s eyes roll up into her head as she falls sideways, asleep before her head hits the pillow.

Well, at least she’s still predictable.


	15. Useful Babbling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you get out,” he demands, hands on his hips.
> 
> “Feminine wiles.”
> 
> “You talked that poor soldier into a coma, didn’t you?” He latches onto her arm and marches her back to the tent, pushing her inside. “I’ve told you not to do that. It’s ridiculous.”
> 
> “It’s _effective_."

Justine wakes up in stages, gaining back her senses one at a time in excruciating slowness. Her head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton and her mouth feels the same. She could kill Belloq for drugging her. Heaving in a deep breath, she lurches upwards in time to get sick, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

“Feeling better?”

“Go to hell,” she says. Justine flops onto the ground with a miserable groan, ending up beside the wastebasket she’d vomited into.

“Would you like something to drink?” She glares over at him, hair hanging in damp strands that stick to her cheeks. It’s too hot now and she knows that she needs to drink something, but she’s far too stubborn to accept anything from this little weasel. “If you get dehydrated, you’ll never see the Ark.”

Damn him.

Justine hauls herself to her feet using the cot before dropping down in a seat across from Belloq. He looks smug, has a little smile twisting up one corner of his mouth that makes her want to throw her water in his face, glass and all. She’s thirsty though, so she drinks the water and turns a considering gaze to the wine bottle.

“If you throw the wine bottle, then those soldiers out there will hurt you before I can stop them.” Her gaze switches back to his, then drops back to the glass in her hand. The water is cool and carries the faint taste of leather from a canteen, but it’s wet and that’s what matters.

“Why am I here, René?”

“Because I want you here.”

“Which means you want to hurt Indy.” Justine rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t slouch in the chair. She keeps her posture as immaculate as possible, giving him nothing to criticize her for. Part of her, the one buried deep down that she refuses to acknowledge, knows that she’s sitting like this because she always switches to that teenage version of herself when she’s around Belloq.

“Not necessarily. I’ve got Miss Ravenwood for that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I had her apprehended a couple of hours ago.” Her fingers tighten around the glass, knuckles turning white under the pressure. She wants to throw it at his head and follow it with her fists, wants to make him scream. Belloq, as if reading her thoughts, reaches out to snatch the glass out of her hand. “Do you feel like eating?”

“No.” She shakes her head, legs itching to pace the length of the tent. They won’t support her yet, not fully. She’s not going to make a fool of herself in front of this man any more than she already has.

“I need to go supervise the dig for a couple of hours. Behave while I’m gone, and I’ll see about getting you some clean clothes.” He rises from his seat, pausing long enough to hand her back the glass of water and press a kiss to her forehead before heading out. The urge to throw the glass comes back full force but she pushes it down.

Instead, she gets up from her seat and makes her way to the entrance of the tent, poking her head out and looking to the soldier on her left. He’s around her height with pitch black hair peeking out from beneath his hat and olive-toned skin that hints at Italian heritage on some side or the other.

“Do you happen to know what time it is,” she asks. The man doesn’t respond, facing forward with his hands clasped together in front of him. “Could you tell me exactly where I am right now?” Again, nothing. Not even a twitch. “I can keep asking questions for ages, you know. I’m a chatterbox. I once made my family’s priest so frustrated that he cursed at me. I was ten at the time and—”

“It’s six-thirty, Mrs. Bellosh.”

“It’s _Doctor_ and I’m not that little asshole’s wife. I’ve been divorced for three months, I own half the vineyard, and I have a fiancée. Well, I will have. It’s complicated.” The soldier does his best impression of a plank of wood, face devoid of emotion and eyes beginning to glaze. “It’s actually an interesting story. Willie and I met in Shanghai in this scummy club….”

She keeps babbling as she inches forward, the soldier zoned out enough that he doesn’t even realize when she’s past him. Justine acts as if she belongs here, trying not to feel put out that she’s still only wearing her slip and stockings. As long as she pretends that this fashion choice is purposeful, she can find Marion and get the hell out of here.

It’s going perfectly well until she rounds a corner and runs smack into Belloq.

“How did you get out,” he demands, hands on his hips.

“Feminine wiles.”

“You talked that poor soldier into a coma, didn’t you?” He latches onto her arm and marches her back to the tent, pushing her inside. “I’ve told you not to do that. It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s _effective_. Excessive babbling is how we snuck into the Louvre before you were hired, and how I was able to steal a few artifacts from these grave robbing ghouls, and—”

“And this little talent is completely lost on me, Justine. I was raised alongside you, remember? I can talk just as much as you can.” _Damn it_. He brings a box out from behind his back, pressing it into her hands. “Go behind the screen and put this on. I can’t have you distracting the men with your….” Belloq trails off, eyes trailing from the top of her head to her toes and back up to her face. “Wiles.”

“I’ll get dressed, talk their ears off, and escape.”

“You’ll get dressed and behave or I’ll tie you to a chair.” She scowls and stalks behind the changing screen, setting the box down on a table in order to open it. Inside is volumes of white silk and tulle, a small cloth rose sewn at the top of the bodice and another, larger, version resting at the back. It’s gorgeous, the type of dress to make even the most self-conscious girl feel like royalty.

It’s her wedding dress.

She wants to bring it out and smell the perfume that still clings to it even all these years later, get lost in the nostalgia of it all, but then she thinks about Willie. Who needs nostalgia for a failed relationship when you have someone who loves you to the moon and back? Justine flips the lid closed and comes back out long enough to grab her discarded clothing. Belloq doesn’t say anything, just watching as she disappears again to change.

“You didn’t want your dress back?”

“I’m not that person anymore.” His eyes soften and she can see a glimpse of the boy he had been, the one that hung around her big brother and snuck her sips of wine at social gatherings. She misses that boy, the sweet one with the mischievous grin and the chocolate addiction. “And neither are you, René.”

“No, I suppose I’m not.” The tent flap is yanked backwards as a woman and a higher ranking officer step inside, the woman cursing up a storm until she spots Justine. Marion Ravenwood is _furious_ , blue eyes practically glowing in the fading sunlight.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here,” she spits, the venom almost enough to make Justine flinch.

“The same as you,” Justine answers. “Were you drugged as well?”

“I got stuffed in a laundry barrel and hauled off like dirty clothes.” Justine turns a cold gaze to Belloq, arching her brows. “These goons drugged you?”

“That goon in particular.” She jerks her chin at the man responsible, one hand rubbing her backside. She’s not fond of shots and he knows that. “I was doing some shopping for Fayah, minding my own business, and then I get this sharp pain in my bottom.” Marion turns a disdainful frown in Belloq’s direction, the heat of it capable of stripping paint.

“You’re such a _dick_.”

“That’s quite enough,” Belloq says before the two women can really get started. It’s just as well, Justine supposes. No need to verbally eviscerate him when the evening is still young. By the time night is truly here, Belloq will be a sobbing mess with self-esteem issues a mile wide. Justine has _plans_. “Thank you for bringing her here, Colonel.”

“Move her yourself next time,” the tall German says. “That one bites.” Marion chomps on air, teeth bared in the feral expression of a big cat hunting prey. The Colonel for his part only gulps a little bit before scurrying back to safety. With him out of the way, both women turn to look at Belloq with a determination that should make him terrified.

“Shall we eat?”


	16. The one With the Chase Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first twenty minutes of their drive is almost peaceful aside from the overwhelming aroma of sweat, but then a ruckus starts up behind them. Galloping hooves, shouting, gunshots; all in rapid succession that lets Justine know that her friend has found them again.
> 
> “Is saying _I told you so_ tacky,” she asks no one in particular. “I like to brag, but I don’t want it to come out as a cliché.” Belloq lets out a low curse as he turns in his seat to see exactly what in the hell is going on. “Does anyone know a classier way of saying I was right and all of you were so wrong that I’m actually concerned about your intelligence?”

Marion Ravenwood is wearing Justine’s wedding dress. It fits nearly perfectly, though it’s a bit too long on her, the color contrasting nicely with Marion’s even tan. She looks beautiful, but part of Justine wants to scratch her eyes out for pulling on the dress with so little hesitation. Justine stamps down on the instinct and focuses instead on the glass of wine she’s been nursing for the past thirty minutes.

Belloq, sitting across from her, is downright _plastered_. He’s been matching Marion glass for glass this whole time and his cheeks are flushed a dark pink. Beside her, Marion’s not doing much better as she giggles and nearly falls out of her chair. It’s strange to be the only sober person in the room. She doesn’t like it.

“What the hell are we drinking,” Marion asks around the bursts of laughter. There’s something fake about her merriment, faint little cracks in the way her eyes sharpen and then lose focus. She’s not nearly as drunk as she seems.

“It’s my family’s label,” Belloq tells her, grinning broadly. He raises the wine bottle and pours Marion another glass. He’s still grinning when Marion picks up a knife off the table, the one that had gone missing before the dinner plates were cleared away by one of the digger’s sons. “What’s that for?”

“For getting outta here. Ain’t that right, Justine?” Justine hums her agreement, finishing off her glass before standing up. It’s not going to be fun walking through the desert in heels, but it’s better than going barefoot. “I’m sure we’ll meet again some other day.”

“I hope I never have to see you again,” Justine states baldly. “And if I do, I’ll break your nose.” Belloq’s smile fades to something like sadness, gray eyes flicking over Justine’s shoulder. She turns in time to see the German from Nepal step inside, Justine reaching out to grab Marion’s arm before she can back into him.

Up close, he’s just as awful as Justine had imagined. He’s pale, with a baby-faced appearance, clean-shaven and sporting a pair of lips that look almost swollen, causing his words to come out with a slight slur. His eyes are nearly owlish behind the lenses of his glasses, one leather-clad hand reaching up to steal the knife from Marion’s grasp.

“I’m almost surprised to see you here, _Fraulein_ ,” he says. His voice is raspy like gravel over asphalt, almost unused. His gaze turns to Justine, taking her in with a nonplussed expression. “I take it that you’re Doctor Jones’s assistant?”

“I take it you don’t mind having your glasses shoved right up your ass,” she returns snappishly. “I’m _nobody’s_ assistant, Ferret Face.” Belloq clears his throat and sends her a pointed stare when she glances over at him. “What? I don’t like him. He tried to set my friend on _fire_.”

“I nearly succeeded.” Justine sends him a glare that’s capable of making lesser men shake in their boots. The Nazi, however, merely shrugs off his coat and lets a soldier behind him hang it up. What kind of person carries around hangers? “May I sit?”

“Of course,” Belloq says, nodding towards the whicker chair Justine had vacated. “Ladies, would you like to sit as well?” Marion moves stand behind Belloq, like she actually believes he can keep her safe. Justine joins her with a decided reluctance, arms crossed over her chest.

“Now,” the Nazi says once he’s settled,” what shall we talk about?” Justine opens her mouth, but Belloq drives his elbow back into the meat of her thigh to keep her quiet. “Why don’t we do the introductions? I am _Sturmbannführer_ Arnold Toht.” He gazes over to Justine expectantly.

“Doctor Justine Laurent,” she says, head raised proudly. “I was born and raised in Marseille and I nearly died two years ago when a group of British archaeologists pushed me into an embalming chamber with a knife-wielding serial killer.” Marion looks over at her with surprise coloring her cheeks. “Don’t worry, dear, Indy and I took care of it.”

“And now here you are with Doctor Jones nowhere around to save you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Belloq states. “Jones has a tendency of turning up like a bad penny.”

“So I’ve heard.”

* * *

It’s past midnight by the time the interrogation is finished, Justine sitting on the floor with her head against Belloq’s knee. She doesn’t remember actually falling asleep, but when she’s shaken awake a few hours later, she’s back on the cot. The soldier has a handful of her dress and is yanking her upright, forcing her onto her feet and out of the tent.

“What the hell is going on,” she growls, struggling against the tight hold. The soldier grabs her upper arm, the hand in her dress moving to the back of her neck. “Let me go!”

“What’s happening,” Marion demands as she’s dragged out of the tent. “Hey, you can’t do this to us! We’re Americans!”

“That’s right! I have all the damned paperwork to prove it!” The soldiers herd them towards a gaggle of other Germans, all of them surrounding a small group of diggers and a crate. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s inside the crate, nor who it is Colonel Dietrich is calling to down in a pit.

“Let me go, you slimy pigs!” Marion is shoved into the pit before anyone can stop it, Justine nearly following suit. She’s just about over the edge when a pair of arms grab her, one of her shoes tumbling down into a pile of snakes writhing in the sand below. _Oh, I bet Indy’s close to a panic attack right about now_.

“Marion!” Justine struggles to peer over the edge of the hole, wanting to make sure that her new friend is okay. “Marion!”

“I’m here! I’m hanging onto a—” There’s a hoarse scream and a grunt of pain that echoes in the chamber, then Marion is hollering again. “Get me out of here, you bastards! Get me _out!_ ”

“Get a rope or something! You can’t just leave them down there! They’ll die!”

“That’s rather the point,” Dietrich says, walking over to the crate. “Get this loaded onto the truck. We’ve got a plane to catch before nightfall.”  Justine lunges for a discarded coil of rope, but Belloq is a lot stronger than he looks and holds fast around her waist.

“Now is not the time to act out,” he hisses in her ear. “These men will gladly throw you in there as well.”

“Let them,” Justine snarls, teeth bared. “I’d rather die with my friends than spend another moment with filth like you!” He frowns down into the pit, but he doesn’t let her go.

“Indiana Jones, _adieu_.” As Justine is pulled back towards the tent, the diggers begin to move a heavy slab of stone back over the hole, shutting out all light in the pit. Indiana and Marion will probably die down there, the Nazis have the Ark, and Justine is doing nothing helpful. That’s just not going to work.

She throws her head back, hearing the satisfying grunt of pain and feeling Belloq’s arms begin to loosen around her. She takes advantage and drives the heel of her remaining shoe against his shin, pushing herself forward on the momentum. It’s almost easy after that, the shoe kicked off so she can sprint across the warm sand towards her friends.

She almost makes it, but then Toht appears in a swirl of black cloth and shoves her backwards with enough force to make her stumble and fall.

She doesn’t waste any time in her new assault, getting to her knees and launching herself upwards to butt her head against his stomach. He lets out a faint noise, but his gloved hands tangle in the back of Justine’s dress and she’s pushed to the side. At this angle she can make out the leftover soldiers pushing and prodding at the diggers with their guns, making them back away from the sealed hole and shouting orders in broken Arabic.

“I suggest you stop this fight,” Toht says, leveling a pistol at her face when she sits up again. There’s no expression on his face, a careful blankness that speaks of years of doing things just like this. Ordering deaths, doling out pain, killing innocent people and not giving a single damn about the consequences. “Put your hands together in front of you.”

“No!”

“Do it or I will fire.” She grits her teeth and complies, knowing she’ll be no use to anyone if she’s dead. She brings her hands together like she’s getting ready to pray, staying still when Belloq picks up that length of rope and ties her wrists together. “ _Monsieur_ Belloq, keep your wife close to you so she does not beat you up again.”

“I’m _not_ his wife.” Toht gives her a dead-eyed stare as he holsters the gun, making a low _tsk_ sound before striding off for the main camp.

“She didn’t beat me up,” Belloq mutters. “Come on, you. Let’s go find some shade.”

“I don’t like that man.”

“No one likes that man.” Justine snorts, walking beside Belloq towards a tent crowded with soldiers. Dietrich has already made himself comfortable in a chair, sipping on a glass of bourbon and watching as a Nazi symbol is spray-painted onto the crate containing the Ark.

“Would you like a drink, _Monsieur_ ,” Dietrich asks, holding his own glass aloft.

“I’ll have a drink when we’re back in Germany. Until then, I think I’ll keep my wits about me.” Which pretty much translates to _I’m hungover, I’m not one-hundred percent sure my nemesis is actually dead, and my ex-wife can babble herself into the Louvre after closing if she feels like it_.

There’s a sound like an engine backfiring, but the others around Justine don’t seem to notice it. They probably think some engineer is having trouble with a jeep. Justine’s pretty sure that noise has something to do with her friends because the only way Indiana Jones is going to die is if Death their self shows up and conks him over the head with their scythe.

She meets Belloq’s gaze, allowing a secretive little smile to curl up one corner of her mouth. _I know something you don’t know_ , a childish voice sings in her head.

Following the backfiring comes a spray of gunfire and a rather spectacular explosion, which the soldiers _do_ notice. Belloq’s eyes snap back to her, widened with a sick sense of realization that Justine revels in.

“How in the,” he starts and cuts himself off with a curse. “Stay with the Ark! Do not lose track of it!” Belloq latches onto Justine’s bicep, dragging her after him and two others towards the cloud of black smoke drifting upwards. There’s another explosion when they’re halfway there, the cloud turning into a dense fog. _“Merde!”_

“Get the Ark out of here,” Dietrich calls to the soldiers trailing behind him. “Get it away from here!” The soldiers he gave the order to run off without hesitation, chattering away excitedly about whatever it is Nazis get excited about. “You!” Dietrich turns to face Justine now, pointing an accusing finger at her. “How did your friends get out so quickly?”

“Dumb luck is my guess,” she says, content as a house cat. As long as Indiana and Marion are out of that tomb, then the Ark will be safe. Indiana is nothing if not stubborn beyond all reason. It’s why they get along so well. “The point is that they’re _out_ , which means you’ll be dead soon and the Ark will be in safe hands.”

“I would very much like to see Jones try and kill me.”

“He blew up a truck, a plane, and a watch tower all within the past fifteen minutes. Killing you will probably be easy in comparison.” She yanks her arm out of Belloq’s grip so that she can be face to face with the Colonel, a steely resolve turning her eyes into chips of stone. “And if he doesn’t kill you, I will.”

“Belloq, keep your little pet on a shorter leash.”

“If only that were at all possible,” he grouses, sending her a reprimanding frown.

“We need to leave as soon as possible. We’ll fly the damn Ark out of here from Cairo.” Dietrich storms off, Belloq grabbing hold of Justine again and steering her back towards camp.

True to his word, a canvas-topped truck is pulled up into the compound, a _quatuor_ of soldiers carefully loading the Ark into the back with three others joining them inside, each armed to the teeth. “You two, get in the backseat!” Dietrich motions towards a sleek Mercedes-Benz, pitch black with chrome fixtures and a top that can be pulled back for sunny days. Justine might just be in love.

“Get in the car, Justine.”

“Can I drive it,” she asks, running one hand over the rolled up canvas top.

“I’ve seen your driving, _mon amie_. I’d like to get to Cairo alive.” She scowls, but allows herself to be herded into the backseat, the leather a little too warm under the blazing sun. The heat wouldn’t be unbearable if she had space to stretch, but she ends up being stuck between Belloq and Dietrich with Gobler driving and Toht in the front passenger’s seat. The only bright spot is when Belloq removes her bindings, tossing the rope aside with a narrowed-eyed glare in Toht’s direction.

The road leading the way back to the city is rough and rarely used, but the car barely even rocks as they take turns going at least sixty. If Justine was at all capable of driving, she’d own a car just like this and take her family on drives through Connecticut. As it is, she’ll just have to buy Li a car similar to this when he gets his license.

The first twenty minutes of their drive is almost peaceful aside from the overwhelming aroma of sweat, but then a ruckus starts up behind them. Galloping hooves, shouting, gunshots; all in rapid succession that lets Justine know that her friend has found them again.

“Is saying _I told you so_ tacky,” she asks no one in particular. “I like to brag, but I don’t want it to come out as a cliché.” Belloq lets out a low curse as he turns in his seat to see exactly what in the hell is going on. “Does anyone know a classier way of saying I was right and all of you were so wrong that I’m actually concerned about your intelligence?”

“Quiet!” Justine turns as well as she can in the cramped seat, spotting Indiana riding a horse up next to the canvas truck and climbing onto the side. He flings the passenger door open, yanking the passenger out and crawling in to take his place.

“Get him, Indy!”

“I’m tryin’,” he yells from the truck, barely heard over all the noise. The truck swerves dangerously as Indiana and the driver fight for control of the wheel, upcoming pedestrians jumping out of the way when the cars come speeding past. People in the road mean they’re getting closer to a small village just outside of Cairo, which also means a bigger chance for innocents to get hurt or worse.

The truck breaks suddenly, then speeds up as it crashes through support beams holding up a small group of workers that are trying to build a house. The workers and one of the Nazis tumbling to the ground, more stunned than anything as they watch the truck speed onwards.

There’s a moment of quiet and then the driver is being knocked out of the truck, Indiana in full control of it.

“Yes,” Justine shouts. She throws her hands up in the air and narrowly misses hitting Dietrich right in the nose. “Yes, Indy! Get the Ark out of here!” The truck speeds up even more, the grille of it smashing into the baggage in the back of the car hard enough to knock it off track and send it fish-tailing. “Hey!”

“He’s trying to kill us all,” Belloq shouts, one hand clenched on the frame and the other keeping his hat in place.

“He knows what he’s doing.” Justine hopes he _does_ know what he’s doing. Too many plans of his are made up on the go, so it’d be nice if this one really is something he’s taken time to think through. Considering the way he’s hunched over the wheel, she doubts it is.

The car swerves back in front of the truck and speeds up, like Gobler’s trying to race Indiana to see who can make it to Cairo first. The jeep following behind the truck pulls up alongside it, crashing into it to try and force Indiana off the road. The truck swerves to the right, knocking the jeep off balance on a sharp curve. There’s a moment where the jeep is driving on two wheels before it tilts completely, landing on its side in a loud crunch of busted metal. A motorcycle pulls up on the left of the truck, but it meets the same fate as the jeep had a second ago.

“Beginning to get worried now, gentlemen?”

“Oh, you be quiet!” She gets close to Belloq’s face just so she can laugh in it, all the petty vindictiveness inside her coming out in a succinct little _HA_. The soldiers inside the truck, once it’s stopped its manic swerving, begin climbing along the sides like ants, pistols drawn and ready to fire.

“Now what do you have to say?”

“All I have to say is _they’re behind you, Indy!”_ Belloq flinches at the sudden shouting in his ear and Justine hopes he hears the ringing echo for however long he has left to live. “They’re climbing on the tru—” Dietrich claps a hand over her mouth and yanks her farther down in the car, grumbling under his breath about impudent women.

Behind them, the truck has resumed its swerving, two soldiers on the left brushed off like flies when tree branches collide with them. Another soldier meets the same fate over on the right, a fourth toppling backwards when the canvas rips open. Number Six actually manages to fire a shot into the cab through the passenger window, a smattering of blood painting the windshield.

Justine is screaming into Dietrich’s glove, half of it warnings that there will be one other soldier hidden in the truck and half of it just creative swearing she’s picked up since coming to America. Gustave would be so proud to know his baby sister has shed that damned shyness.

The door Number Six is clinging to flies open and shut quickly, another slam of it against the truck severing the hinges and sending the soldier tumbling down the road in a cloud of dust.

Number Seven tries a new route, climbing slowly along the top of the truck. Once he’s closer to the cab, he grabs the support rail and swings in through the window, boots colliding with Indiana’s head.

 _Well, that’s just cheating_.

There’s some kind of struggle in the cab and then Indiana’s shooting through the windshield, barely staying on the hood of the truck as it speeds up. Dietrich is gesturing madly with his free hand and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out his plan. Number Seven, though, still takes a moment to realize he’s supposed to speed up and ram Indiana into the back of the Mercedes.

Indiana is barely hanging onto the truck, slowly crawling underneath it and using the various pipes and…. Well, Justine’s not entirely certain what all cars have holding them together. What she does have is a stubborn personality and very little self-preservation that makes elbowing the bastard holding her easy. Dietrich lets out a punched-out gasp, grip faltering enough that she can get to her knees and launch herself forward onto the truck’s hood.

“Willie’s going to kill me when she finds out about this,” she breathes out, clinging desperately to the far edge of the hood. Number Seven looks genuinely shocked that a woman is slowly crawling towards him, doing nothing until she’s hauled herself through the shattered window. “Hello.”

“ _Fraulein_ ….” Justine grins as she turns on the bench seat, bracing herself with one hand on the seat and the other against the dash. “What are you doing?” She’s still grinning as she kicks out with her right foot, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him out of the truck. Justine straightens out and takes control of the wheel, shutting the remaining door.

“Goodbye,” she calls out the window. Indiana joins her a moment later, grateful as he slouches in the passenger seat. “Having fun yet?” He turns and grins at her, his teeth bloody.

“Highlight of my year, Tina,” he says. “Do you know how to drive this truck?”

“I thought I’d use something out of your playbook.”

“Making it up as you go along?”

“Precisely.” He nods, leaning over to take control of the gear shift, occasionally telling her which pedal to use to make them speed up. Driving a car shouldn’t be this damn complicated.

“Pull up alongside the car.” She nods, turning the wheel and doing as he’d asked. Belloq is staring up at her from the backseat, one hand still on his hat. It’s a nice hat, it’ll be a shame to ruin it. She smiles over at him, then twists the wheel sharply to crash into the Mercedes. It fish-tails again, but Gobler keeps it from spinning out as he hits another road just below the hill the truck has crested.

“This isn’t so bad.”

“Just keep your eyes on the road.”


	17. Dumb Luck and Dumber Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s almost distressingly easy to sneak aboard the ship and disguise herself as a Nazi. Justine and Indiana aren’t even stopped for questioning, they’re barely glanced at. Just five minutes into the trip, Indiana shoulders his way past Belloq and the guy doesn’t even turn around to glare at him. They’re on a ship filled with _morons_.

Justine has a new nightgown, a soft bed to sleep in, and no one to bother her for the entire trip back home. It’s almost too good to be true. Actually, it _is_ too good to be true considering she’s just had to dislocate a Nazi’s shoulder. Well, it was a nice twenty-two hours anyway.

She moves through the tight confines of the ship, keeping an eye out for any other soldiers as she goes. She’s nearly to the upper floor when someone reaches out to grab her, yanking her into the engine room. “Easy,” Indiana hisses, keeping an arm around her waist. “It’s just me, Tina.”

“Where’s Marion?”

“They got her.” Justine wiggles until he lets her go, turning to face him in disbelief. “Don’t look at me like that, alright. I’m gonna get her back. Hell, we might even get lucky since Marion isn’t really the one they want.”

“Belloq wouldn’t mind having her.” She runs her fingers through the tangled mess of her hair, not even wanting to know how bad it looks. “What are we going to do, Indy?” He looks over to a large pipe and then back to her, raising his brows. Justine copies the movements and heaves out a deeply put-upon sigh.

“It leads out to the deck.”

“Sometimes I really hate these adventures we go on.” He laughs and helps her up into the pipe, following closely after her. There isn’t much wiggle room and the metal is warm enough to make her palms sweat, making it difficult to shimmy upwards. It’s almost a relief when she feels fresh air against her face, head popping up into the curved mouth of the pipe.

Germans have invaded the ship, Marion and Katanga in the middle of them all. She storms right up to Dietrich, nearly managing to punch him and getting pulled away by Katanga at the last minute. He’s a tall burly man, his dark complexion and the white sweater contrasting each other nicely.

“Where’s Jones,” Dietrich shouts.

“We cannot find him, Colonel,” shouts a soldier somewhere above them. _He’s right next to me_ , Justine thinks. _He’s got morning breath_.

“I killed him,” Katanga lies smoothly. He’s got an arm around Marion’s waist, his free hand playing with the dark chestnut of her hair. “He was of no use to me. The woman, however, will fetch a pretty penny.”

“And the other woman,” Dietrich asks.

“I killed her as well. Her attitude was a disadvantage, as was the fact that she kept cursing at us in French.” He’s a good liar, Justine will give him that. Had she not known any differently, she’d probably believe him. “I’m letting you take that cargo without a fuss, _Herr_ Colonel, but I want to keep the woman in exchange. No need to have made this trip for nothing.”

“The girl is coming with us. You can just be happy if we decide not to blow your pathetic ship out of the water when we’re finished.” _Then I really will be dead, and Willie will raise me from the dead just to kill me again_. Talk about your lose-lose situations.

“I will take control of the girl,” Belloq says, stepping forward. “Consider her compensation for the loss of Justine.” Jesus Christ, Justine’s only been dead for five minutes and he’s already moving on.

“How will we follow them,” Justine asks, ducking farther down in the pipe.

“We’ll swim.” Justine nods and pretends to consider this before leaning forward to smack his arm. He’s careful not to cry out, rubbing his smarting bicep with a pouting frown. This is just ridiculous! They’re grown adults and they should be able to come up with sophisticated plans by now. And then she remembers the soldier she’d hurt before being dragged into the engine room.

“I think I have an idea.”

“Is it dumb?”

“So dumb that those Nazis will never believe we’re actually trying it.” He makes a face, shifting his knee slightly higher until it presses under one of Justine’s thighs. It’s cramped in here, they’re basically an archeologist sandwich. “Get us back to my room and I’ll tell you the plan.”

The climb down is worse than the climb up, the heat continuing to rise until they both drop down into the engine room again. Justine leads Indiana back to her cabin, closing the door behind them. Half under her bed is an unconscious soldier, his hat lying clear across the room and his shoulder popped at an unnatural angle.

“Think you can fit into that?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Well, I can make it work. This top will be baggy enough to hide the fact that I’ve got breasts.”

“I guess I’ll cast out a line and see which Nazi bites.” He heads back out of the room and Justine focuses on the task at hand, slowly pulling on each piece of the uniform and leaving her nightgown in a silken puddle near the dresser. Her vanity getting the better of her, she runs a brush through the stubborn tangles of her hair and then sweeps it up under the hat.

“Better than nothing,” she decides, hitching the pants slightly higher. “Willie must never find out about this, though.” _She’d never let me live this down_. Once she’s satisfied that she isn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb, Justine leaves the cabin and comes upon the sight of her best friend trying his best to button a shirt two sizes too small. “No luck, huh?”

“They’re all shrimps.”

“Uh-huh, come on.” She leads the way through the lower level until she finds a straggler, a slightly larger man with blond hair and bright green eyes. He’d be handsome if he had better taste in friends. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, do you happen to know how to get topside?” The soldier marches towards her and receives a broken nose for his trouble, one punch from Indiana knocking him backwards. The man stumbles over his own feet, cracking his head against a pipe and falling to the ground in an unconscious heap.

“I almost feel sorry for this guy.”

“His friends just kidnapped your girlfriend.” He shrugs, exchanging the shirt for the larger one and combing his hair back off his forehead. “Alright, let’s go join the others and hope they don’t notice anything odd about us.”

“Like the fact that we both hope Hitler dies gruesomely?”

“Yeah, like that.”

* * *

It’s almost distressingly easy to sneak aboard the ship and disguise herself as a Nazi. Justine and Indiana aren’t even stopped for questioning, they’re barely glanced at. Just five minutes into the trip, Indiana shoulders his way past Belloq and the guy doesn’t even turn around to glare at him. They’re on a ship filled with _morons_.

“I just want to know why they don’t question two new-comers.”

“Please stop giving this gift horse a dental exam, Tina.”

“We can’t even speak German.”

“They’re not smart. We’ve covered that base.” Justine shakes her head, scowling as they climb up on land. They’re on a shoreline miles from Cairo, heading farther into the desert for God only knows what. Maybe they _have_ figured out which soldiers don’t belong and they’re going to murder the archaeologists. No, they’re not smart enough for that. “Stay with them and follow the plan.”

“The one you came up with after they sent you and a few others to set up a base camp?”

“Yeah, Tina, that plan.”

“It’s not a great one.”

“Do you have a plan that will get all three of us and the Ark out of here safely?”

“I’m working on it.” Indiana rolls his eyes, letting the others get farther ahead before branching off. With the RPG launcher strapped to his back, climbing the boulders and rockface is slow going. Justine only has to carry a crate of provisions, so at least she got lucky. The cook had taken one look at her and given her a light load because, and she’s quoting the guy here, _anything heavier would break you, boy. Get some muscle_.

As if she could go to the store and purchase muscles to carry around a crate of freaking dry goods.

Justine makes her way to the front of the line, keeping her head slightly ducked so the bill of her hat throws a shadow across her face. The other soldiers don’t pay her any attention, feet shuffling over rough earth that’s been packed tight over the years. The walls of rock on either side form a natural path that they follow, tents scattered to the wayside for later tonight so they aren’t expected to make this trip in the dark.

Seven miles into the march brings them far enough from the ship that an alarm can’t be sounded for any of the others to come barging in. Justine glances over to her right, spotting Indiana as he comes to a stop on one of the higher levels of the rock, RPG launcher resting confidently on his shoulder. Almost looks as though he actually knows what he’s doing.

“Hey, Belloq,” he shouts. The entire line comes to a jolting standstill, boots sliding over loose sand before regaining their footing. Belloq’s head has snapped up and around, eyes narrowing when he spots Indiana. “Did you miss me?”

“Jones,” he growls, low in his throat. Then, louder this time,” I see you escaped the Captain after all. And what about Justine?”

“Oh, she’s around here somewhere. She told me something about a promise to break your nose!” Marion makes a break for it, trying for a path that will lead up to Indiana, but Justine drops the crate in order to catch her around the middle.

“Easy,” Justine cautions in a low voice. “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“Give me the girl or I send the Ark back to God!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Belloq hollers. “This is the find of the century! It will make King Tut look like child’s play! We both know you will not risk destroying the Ark!” And damn if he doesn’t get any stupider. Hasn’t he learned by now that Indiana will do just about anything to spit on Belloq’s perceptions of him?

“Try me, René! I’ve been shot, beat till hell wouldn’t have it, and yelled at by an angry cook with a mustache so magnificent that I felt like I should salute it! I’m right about to the point of no return!” Indiana shifts his feet, a miniature avalanche of pebbles raining down and skidding across the sand. “Give me the girl and we can all walk away!”

“And if we refuse,” Dietrich asks, stepping forward.

“Then none of us walk away! I’m not against having a stand off in Hell with you bastards. How do you feel about that, Colonel?” The soldiers holding up the Ark set it on the ground and back away despite the harsh glare Dietrich sends their way. “What do you say, Belloq? Ready to shake hands with the Devil?”

Belloq moves to stand in front of the Ark, looking far too superior for a man with an RPG aimed in his direction. He holds his arms out away from him, as if daring Indiana to fire. Justine wouldn’t put it past her friend at this point. She’s ready to pull the trigger and see which part of Belloq explodes first.

“Blow it up,” he says. The soldiers prickle at that, but Belloq waves them away with a few curt words in German. “Go ahead and blow it to smithereens!”

“Don’t tempt me!”

“Do you know why you aren’t going to pull that trigger and end it all? Because you’re just as curious as I am! You want to know what is inside this that made everyone so afraid of it, that made God hide it in a year-long sandstorm!” There’s a moment, sixty seconds, that stretch out into an eternity before the launcher is pointed to the ground and set aside.

“You’re going to open it?”

“We are.”

“I want to be there.”

“And so you shall be.” Belloq turns and nods to a group of soldiers, jerking his chin up in Indiana’s direction. “Restrain him and the girl. You lot, go find Justine.” Ten soldiers break away to get Indiana and another five begin scouring the grounds to find Justine. They’re too damn dumb to figure out she’s standing three feet away.

_I’m surrounded by idiots_.


	18. Twelve Percent of a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then there’s a seventy percent chance that we’ll make it out of this alive.” It’s that pesky thirty percent that worries her.

Justine is in the process of untying Marion when she’s first spotted by Belloq. She tries to make it look like she’s tightening the knot, but she’s never been a very convincing actress. That’s Willie’s job.

“Did the Captain actually try to kill you or was that another lie,” he asks, raising his brows. Justine focuses her attention back on the stubborn knot, confident that Belloq isn’t going to ambush her from behind. He’s not subtle enough for all that. “Where did you get the uniform?”

“From the guy that interrupted me brushing my hair,” she answers. The knot is beginning to loosen, but her fingers are growing sore and red. If nothing else, these guys can tie a really good bowline. “Am I caught, or will you just let us slip away?”

“You’re caught, my dear.” She gives up with a sigh and turns to face him.

“Wonderful.”

“Would you like me to tie you up closer to the Ark?”

“No thank you. I’d rather be as far as I can from it when God decides to start smiting people.” She settles herself down in the warm sand, letting him secure one of her wrists to Indiana’s ankle with a piece of rope a soldier hands over. “René, can I tell you something before you go?”

“Of course.”

“Come here. It’s something of a secret.” He bends at the waist and shuffles a foot closer, never expecting the fist that collides with his nose or the spray of blood that soaks into the collar of his shirt. He curses as he lurches backwards, hands coming up to cover the broken cartilage. “I told you I’d break your nose the next time I saw you.”

Belloq paces away from her, breathing hard as he works through the pain and forces the bone back into place with a neat little _snick_. With one last withering glare in her direction, he stomps back to the main camp with the soldier hurrying to catch up.

“Feel better,” Marion asks.

“Loads better, yes.”

“Wish I could’ve done that. He’s handsy.”

“Try living with him.” She rests her head back against the wooden post her friends are tied to, one on either side of it.

The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in vivid shades of pink and scarlet, setting the desert on fire. It’ll be one o’clock back home, Willie dancing around the kitchen with Li as she prepares their lunch. There should still be some dyed eggs left in the fridge, which will be transferred into the tuna salad that Li’s come to love. Justine even knows which song her girlfriend will be singing as loudly as she can.

 _“In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it_ ,” Justine sings softly,” _you’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade_ ….”

“Really, right now?”

“Oh, don’t argue,” Indiana advises. “This is basically the only song she and Willie can agree to listen to together.”

 _“…. I’ll be all in clover and when they look us over, we’ll be the proudest couple in the Easter parade,”_ she continues, barely heard over the ruckus the Nazis are making. Indiana sighs and his head thumps back against the pole.

 _“On the avenue_ ,” Marion joins in, her voice a nice accompaniment. _“Fifth Avenue, the photographers will snap us, and you'll find that you're in the rotogravure….”_ Indiana gives another sigh and then he’s belting out the lyrics with the other two, determined to at least give those pea-brained dolts a headache. _“Oh, I could write a sonnet about your Easter bonnet and of the girl I'm taking to the Easter parade!”_

 

It’s fully dark by the time the camp begins to go quiet, a few spotlights and heavy cameras set up to face the dais of stone they’ve put the Ark on. Justine can’t see what’s happening so far away, but she’s got a good idea and wonders if her ex-husband can really be so stupid as to open the Ark.

“He’s actually doing it,” Justine says. “I can’t believe that this is the one plan that’s playing out like you said it would.”

“Belloq is an idiot with an ego,” Indiana shrugs. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it coming.”

“Wait, getting captured was your plan all along,” Marion asks, disbelief coloring her voice.

“We were going to get caught anyway. Belloq wants to see what the Ark can do, but he hasn’t actually done any research on it beyond the bare facts. He doesn’t know that opening the Ark is likely to kill anyone that wants to use it.”

“What about us, Indy?”

“Do you wanna use the Ark?”

“No.”

“Tina, you wanna use it?”

“Not particularly,” she says.

“Then there’s a seventy percent chance that we’ll make it out of this alive.” It’s that pesky thirty percent that worries her. She glances back towards the gathering crowd, finding a trio of men standing just behind the Ark—Belloq, Toht, and Dietrich. At least two of those men are atheists, but she can’t say for sure about Dietrich. She considers herself fairly open to the vague idea of religion, but even that’s enough to make her cringe as Belloq starts to chant.

 _Seventy percent chance of survival_ , she reminds herself. _Maybe God will spare me since I went to church every Sunday when I was a kid_.

The chanting stops and two soldiers step forward, faceless men that remove the lid of the Ark and step away from it. The three men step forward and peer over the edge of the chest, a high cackling laugh echoing through the camp as Toht steps away from it. They don’t notice the sudden gusts of wind, the way the temperature is beginning to plummet. There’s an electrical whine and then the lightbulbs are bursting, shattered glass raining down over the soldiers.

 _Seventy percent_.

Justine presses her cheek against Indiana’s calf, eyes squeezed shut as things really start to ramp up. A rumbling thunderclap rolls through over the group, vibrating Justine’s bones and making her teeth grind.

“Close your eyes,” Indiana demands, voice shaking. “Keep ‘em closed no matter what you hear.” Justine does it without hesitation, using her free hand to cover one of her ears. Hissing voices curl around her like fog, the cold seeping through the stolen uniform like ice water, a thousand pinpricks of pain that nearly drives the air out of her lungs.

There’s screaming now, the screaming of men who’ve tumbled headfirst into Death’s open arms. It’s the type of scream you let out as a child when you’re certain the boogeyman is waiting underneath your bed, wanting to wrap a skeletal hand around your ankle and _yank_. Bare-faced horror that makes your heart gallop in your chest.

Justine can’t make herself breathe, not when her lungs start to burn, or her head begins to ache. All she can do is keep her eyes closed and that one hand smashed flat over her left ear. To open her eyes is to never see Willie or Li again. To open her eyes and look as the wet sounds of dismembered bodies slam to the ground is to be one step behind them.

 _Seventy percent_.

A blast of freezing air washes over her like a wave, forcing her to the ground with a sound that should only be heard in nightmares. She can’t cry out as the wave crashes over her again, pulling her backwards hard enough to snap the rope and for something in her wrist to give with a sickening pop.

Everything seems to fade at the edges, like an old photograph that shouldn’t be exposed to light for too long. Yellowing, curled edges that need to be smoothed over to make them stay put. That’s what it feels like, that Justine’s edges have aged and won’t stay open.

It takes her ten minutes to realize that the noise has stopped, that the screams she hears are coming from her friends somewhere far away. _Are they wearing their Easter bonnets? The pinks ones with the flowers stitched on them and pretty lace. Grandmother loves a good bonnet, Tina. Got to wear a nice one for Grandmother_. But no, that’s not quite right. Grandmother Laurent has been dead for five years and doesn’t much care if Tina’s bonnet is perfect anymore.

Her eyes flicker open and she sees an arrangement of stars overhead, glittering diamonds scattered over velvet. It’s beautiful, quiet. She glances over at her friends, wondering for a second why they’re all cock-eyed and then realizing that she’s been tossed to the side by that last gust of air.

“Tina,” Indiana’s yelling. _He’s worried about me_. “Tina, are you okay?”

“Sixty-five percent,” she manages, lips feeling swollen.

“What?”

“Our survival was closer to sixty-five percent.” He rolls his eyes so hard that Justine is mildly surprised that he doesn’t pull a muscle.

“Good to know you’ll be alright.” She gives a weak smile and uses her left arm to lever herself into a sitting position, the right one cradled gingerly against her chest. The wrist is broken, she knows that without having to look. It’s broken and she’s going to have to wear an ugly cast that will clash with every single item of clothing in her closet. “You wanna cut us loose?”

“With what, my good looks?”

“With the pocket-knife in my shoe.” She grabs the knife and nearly drops it when she tries to get it opened one-handed. “Easy!”

“Oh, shut it!”

“Just get us outta here,” Marion grumbles, wiggling impatiently against the ropes. “I look good in bracelets, but I prefer ones made out of bronze.” Justine slices through the ropes and lets Marion take over after that, stumbling a couple of feet away and turning to see what’s happened.

She’s expecting a gory mess, but what she finds is a barren desert apart from broken light posts and the Ark still settled on that dais. No people to be found, not even any blood in the sand. It’s like it never actually happened. Her wrists throbs as if to say _it did happen, you loon_. There’s no arguing with broken bones.

She turns again to pose the immortal question of _what the fuck just happened,_ but the words dry in her mouth when she finds the other two locked in an embrace that can only be called passionate. If this is what she and Willie look like, then she understands why Li always makes a sour expression and looks away. It’s disgusting.

“I hate to break up this tender moment,” she says, not sorry at all. “But how in the hell are we getting out of here?” Indiana pulls back with a certain reluctance, rubbing his nose against Marion’s before shifting his hold on her so that one arm is around her waist. He’s grinning, it’s a familiar grin that makes all the warning bells go off in Justine’s head. What he says next makes her question her own sanity.

“Don’t worry, I got a plan.”


	19. An Unconventional Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a summer wedding, a small affair with only their closest friends attending. The reception is held at the Laurent-Scott home, where Li and Indiana end up breaking the table holding the gifts after being told they could each have one present and both of them deciding they need a new waffle iron. Needless to say, the waffle iron is put up on a high shelf and the boys are on the time out step.

It ends up taking nearly two weeks for Justine to get back to Connecticut, stepping off the plane in a brand new outfit and a pair of heels that can take out a man’s eye. She’s quite proud of them actually. Willie is too, she made Justine keep them on when she took everything else off.

“So,” Willie sighs,” you said there was something important you forgot to do?” Willie nudges her with an elbow and Justine’s eyes snap fully open. “Nope, no going to sleep for fourteen hours this time, girlie.” She grunts and sits up in the bed, using the headboard to keep her propped up into something that resembles sitting. No one can blame her for drooping slightly.

“You still love me?”

“Yeah, why? Do you still love _me?”_

“Duh.” Justine bends over her side of the bed to rummage around the pile of clothes until she finds what she’d hidden in the pocket of her skirt. She pulls it out and places it in Willie’s hand, the sapphire gleaming in the glow of the bedside lights.

“Is that an engagement ring?” Justine nods. “For me?”

“No, I’m marrying Indy and I wanted to make sure the gem is the right cut for him.” Willie scowls and shoves at her playfully, all without taking her eyes off the ring. It had cost a pretty penny, but if Willie accepts then it’ll be worth it. They’ll have to find a venue and cobble together a guest list that won’t want to lynch them because they’re gay, and then…. Well, she should probably save the planning for when she gets an answer out of Willie. “So? You wanna marry me?”

“Duh,” she parrots back, smiling over at Justine. “One problem, though. It’s illegal.”

“So is lying to government officials about those Nazis taking control of the Ark for a ceremony that wiped them off the face of the Earth, but I’ve already done that.” Justine shrugs, staring over at her girlfriend expectantly. “I figured we could get Indiana to preside since he is technically a priest.”

“Since when?”

“Since five years ago when we visited this tribe on some island or another that thought he looked like priest material. It might not be official for the US government but fuck those guys.” Willie snorts, her head resting on Justine’s shoulder.

“Yeah, fuck those guys.”

* * *

They have a summer wedding, a small affair with only their closest friends attending. The reception is held at the Laurent-Scott home, where Li and Indiana end up breaking the table holding the gifts after being told they could each have one present and both of them deciding they need a new waffle iron. Needless to say, the waffle iron is put up on a high shelf and the boys are on the time out step.

“Hey, who’s that,” Willie asks, nodding towards the front door. Justine turns, expecting to find someone from the museum or a government official that may or may not find scraps of Nazi uniforms in the golden chest. Instead she finds herself facing her brother for the first time in seven years. He hasn’t changed much, a few more lines in his face, a little more tan, but he’s the same man she’s always idolized. He grins when he spots her, holding his little girl higher on his hip.

“Justine,” he calls, closing the distance in four long strides. _“Tu m’as tellement manqué ces derni_ _ères an nées._ This is Christina. Célia and I decided it was time you met your niece.” The little girl has to be around six now, her blonde hair up in pigtails and a faint sheen of gloss on her lips. She’s adorable, sharing her papa’s dimples and green eyes.

“She’s beautiful,” Justine manages around the growing lump in her throat. “She looks just like her mama.”

“And acts so much like the two of us that I understand why our mother insisted on using nannies.” She snorts, reaching out to shake her niece’s hand. Christina laughs, ignoring the handshake and throwing herself forward so that Justine has no choice but to hold her. “Not a shy bone in her body.”

“A good thing.” Christina has her arms around Justine’s neck, totally at ease around a person she’s never even met before. She definitely gets that from Gustave. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, Gus.” He shrugs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, some of his curls falling across his forehead.

“Well, you know me, I live to spite our family. Father said you were forever disowned, so I hopped on the first plane here to come see you.” Gustave glances around, taking in the decorations and the three-tiered wedding cake. “Is she the one you wrote me about? The singer?”

“She is,” Willie says, shaking Gustave’s hand. “I’m also an actress and a screen writer. My movie will be out in July and I’ve got another I’m working on right now.”

“Very humble, I see.”

“As humble as my wife.” She beams over at Justine, cheeks a bright red. “ _My wife_ , it’s so great to be able to say that.” Justine chances a glance at her brother, but he’s smiling just as widely as Willie. He’s never cared about Justine’s preferences and she’s always loved him for that.

“Célia said to send her congratulations for making it out of Marseille. She also wishes she could be here, but she doesn’t do well on planes or ships. She gets sick easily.”

“Trust me,” Justine says,” I remember. I had to throw out my favorite pair of shoes and couldn’t even explain why to Mother because neither of us were supposed to go on an impromptu trip to Amiens.”

“We were both grounded for a month because we brought the car back smelling like vomit.” She scrunches up her nose at the unneeded reminder, feeling the same nausea that had washed over her when she’d been fourteen. It had been a decidedly short trip, barely more than ten miles down the road before they had to turn back. Célia didn’t talk to them for a week afterwards because she’d been so embarrassed.

“My childhood was very adventurous, Willie.”

“I can see that,” she says. “And here I thought our trip to New York was exciting.”

“We don’t talk about New York.” Gustave raises his brows and glances between the two women. “We’re not talking about it.” Willie gives her a sly smile, wrapping her arm around Gustave’s middle and leading him away.

“It all started when she punched a director’s secretary….”

“Christina, how would you like to hear some embarrassing stories about your papa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Tu m’as tellement manqué ces dernières an nées” = “I’ve missed you so much these past few years!” I used the translate feature on Word, so let me know if I need to make adjustments!


End file.
